Bright Lights
by intotheblue101
Summary: Light, rays of sun and flashes from a camera, seem to be eye-opening, revealing things in the world around us that may not always be seen not so brightly. From an unknown step-brother, a medical revelation, and the uncovering of secrets Katniss's life begins to take a turn of events. Modern day. Some language.
1. Chapter 1

One

…

Shock

…

As I place the bottle of tequila back behind the counter, I wipe my hands off on the towel that I have tucked into the front of apron that Seneca had recently made a uniform requirement for all the staff at the Arena. Then swiping the twenty off the counter and recognizing the male's nod of thanks I cash the required half into the register and the other into my back pocket. And as I reach for my water bottle under the counter I hear a voice from behind me that is far too familiar.

"Gimme some sugar, baby?"

I rolling my eyes I redirect my attention away from my water bottle that my hand is only inches away from and turn around. "How about some liquor instead?"

Finn smiles as he leans down against the bar. "You really know how to win over a man's heart."

I shake my head, holding back a smile. "What can I get you, Finn?"

"Four beers."

I raise my eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. "Please tell me you're not trying to pick up a girl again with Cato and Marv."

"As much as I wish the fourth beer was for a girl," he tells me, "it's not."

"Oh," I smile, "A male? One of Marv's?"

He shakes his head as I reach under the bar. "Mine."

"Mine? Mine as in yours?"

He nods.

I grasp my hands along the edge of the bar. "The press will have a field day with that, Finn, especially after the whole ordeal a few months when they found you were making an appearance on whatever Jace William's TV show is called to play the role of his ex-boyfriend."

"Not that kind of 'mine,'" he says, taking the beers from my hands and rolling his eyes at me.

I cork my head to the side, confused. "Then who is this male that isn't a 'mine,' but is a 'mine?'"

"My step-brother."

"Your step-brother," I exclaim, "Since when in hell have you had a step-brother?"

He shrugs. "Eight years."

"Seriously? Are you messing with me?" I question, leaning back on my heels and watching him diligently with a close eye.

He shakes his head. "Cross my heart hope to die."

Still unconvinced I ask, "Why haven't I met this step-brother of yours or even heard of him for that matter as you basically tell me every single detail about your life?"

"He's been gone for a couple of years. He just got back yesterday from a year down in South America the other day so Cato decided we should take him out for drinks, to celebrate."

"Mhm." I say looking around the bar to quickly see if Gale or Thom are in need of any relief before turning my attention back to Finn. "A couple years in South America? For what? An overextended vacation? Oh wait, to please you're Hollywood life was it for rehab?"

He gives me a stern look, "Peeta is the last person you would see in rehab."

I put my hands up in surrender.

He lets out a breath. "He's a good guy, respectable."

"He's related, associated with you."

"You have such little faith, Katniss."

"The world isn't that bright of a place, Finn."

He smiles. "The paparazzi's' cameras help a bit."

"Sadly not enough."

He opens his mouth to say something, but somewhere behind him a voice calls out from the crowd that sounds a lot like Cato's telling Finn to hurry the hell up.

So giving me a look I nod my head, excusing him. And then letting out a breath he unwillingly pushes his body back off the bar and then with his four beers in hand he gives me a smile. "He's one of the best doctors aboard out there. He did good in Honduras."

He tells me quickly and without warning, making me question myself whether or not he had actually spoken or not. And then before I can process what he said, he disappears into the crowd.

...

"Hey? Catnip?"

I snap out of the truants I unnoticeably fell into, nearly dropping the glass in my hands.

"Hey," he says, resting his hand on my shoulder. "Catnip?"

I nod, setting the glass down.

"You okay?"

I nod.

Gale leans back on his heels crossing his arms across his chest and raising his chin tall all before taking in a deep breath, his appearance telling me he doesn't believe me even before his words say so as he ask, "Really?"

I nod.

"Katniss." He tells me, using my full name, telling me he's serious.

I look down at my hands.

"Katniss."

I shrug my shoulders, still looking down.

"Hey," he says stepping and cupping my chin in his hand so I look at him. "What's wrong?"

"It's just my back," I tell him as I attempt to bend back.

"You're back?"

I nod. "Between stocking yesterday's delivery and not stretch this morning after my run I probably messed it up. It's fine, I'll take an aspirin when I get home and be fine by tomorrow."

He nods his head, carefully watching me. "Stretch next time, okay?"

"Okay."

"And let me stock the next shipment when it comes in," he tells me as he rounds the bar to the back, "Can't have you getting hurt and leaving me hear day in and day out with Thom."

Thom must hear year this as he shouts "hey" from somewhere in the back room causing me to crack a smile, agreeing with Gale, "Okay."

…

I slow down my pace as I turn into the red brick driveway till I am walking. Hands above my head I take deep breaths in through my nose and breathe out through my mouth, attempting to steady out my heartbeat.

"How far ya run, sweetheart?" I hear Haymitch ask from the front porch.

"A little over ten." I tell him, taking in another breath.

"Run down to Sunset Strip?"

I nod.

"And then up to the sign?"

I nod again.

He nods too, setting the paper in his hands on unoccupied chair beside the one he sits in. "I got some of your mail again in my box."

"Anything good?" I ask knowing the old man no doubt skimmed over the return addresses on whatever envelopes were slipped into his box.

He shrugs. "New Thai food place."

"Overpriced?"

He nods. "Just about double that fancy Chinese food place we ordered from a month ago." He pauses. "I threw it out."

"In the trash or the recycling bin?"

"Recycling bin, sweetheart. I didn't feel like you coming after me with an axe or something."

I smile. "Coming after you with an axe or something wouldn't stop you from screwing up our environment."

"Hey," he says in protest, "ever since you got me those bins for my papers and my bottles I have been doing pretty good, recycling and stuff."

I nod, holding back a snort at his "recycling and stuff" comment.

"And I even watered you tomato and string bean plants today in the back." He says with an arrogant, in-your-face grin.

I raise my eyebrow.

"You're supposed to say thank you, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes. "I should have never told you that I got a degree in earth and environmental science."

"You should have never answered my add in the paper."

I shrug my shoulder, dropping my hands from above my head down to my side. "You had the basics and were too cheap for me to say no to, Haymitch, you basically set me up."

"Plus I offered you breakfast on Sundays when you signed the lease."

"You have been making me make you breakfast for the four years every Sunday."

And this time he smiles. "Hey, the place was cheaper than a college dorm and better than the Y."

I cock my head to the side shrugging, joking with him.

"Yeah, whatever." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "Go get a shower sweetheart, you stinking up the block."

"That's you." I shoot back as I make my way around the house on the red brick path that leads to the staircase Haymitch had put in when I answered to the add in the paper, making the upper level of his home into a comfortable apartment for myself.

"Put your mail under the door," he yells.

I yell back a "thanks" to which he no doubt shakes his head before picking up his paper and reading again. And I climb the steps to the top, opening the door to my apartment and slipping inside.

…

Thom nods his head toward the man with blond hair that had been sitting at the corner of the bar for nearly the last thirty minutes now.

"What," I ask.

He shrugs. "He's not a usual or even a camillian."

And he's not. I don't recall ever seeing him since I started working here a few months before my graduation back in the spring. He wasn't a usual nor was he one or those that drifted in and out without a care, fitting in with the crowd. He looked completely lost and a little uncomfortable.

Setting down the glass in my hand, I leave Thom's side and walk over in front of the man.

"Hey." I say causing him to look up.

He nods.

"Refill," I ask, pointing to his empty beer.

"Yeah sure."

Nodding my head, I take the empty bottle and discard it under the counter before pulling out a fresh bottle, popping off the top and setting it in front of him.

"Thanks," he tells me as he grasps the bottle in his hand and takes a drink. And then he sets it down back on the counter he looks up at me surprised.

"Is there something on my face?"

I shake my head.

"Um, something in my teeth?"

Again, I shake my head.

He looks at me confused and a little self-conscious. "What is it?"

"This really isn't your scene." I state.

"What makes you say that," he asks, taking another drink.

"Well, first off you're sitting alone at a bar. You're avoiding eye contact with just about everyone except for myself and you haven't once said a more to anyone beside one of us bartenders to order another drink. You're really not dressed to impress nor have you've shown any interest in impressing anyone. Your shoulders are locked and tight, saying that you're uncomfortable. You reach for your pocket every couple of minutes checking your phone as if you've missed a text from someone that will save you from this hell. And if this is your scene, you have a really bad way of showing it."

He smiles. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? I do all the talking and you listen?"

"You weren't offering much to listen to."

His smile widens, showing his teeth. "Fair enough."

I nod. "So I take it you're meeting someone."

"Yeah," he nods, "We came here a week ago and today he gave me a call. I was supposed to meet him forty minutes ago."

A boy comes up beside the man and ask me for two beers which I hand over to him for a twenty dollar bill in exchange.

"He sounds like my friend Finn." I tell him.

His ears perk up and he raises his eyebrow. "Finn? Finnick Odair?"

I cautiously nod my head.

"That's who I'm meeting." He tells me.

I look him up and down, taking him in. Tall stature. Broad shoulders. Well built. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Chiseled jaw. Few freckles. Callused hands. Worn watch. Rope bracelets. Gray t-shirt. Plain jeans. Black Chucks.

"I just got back to town last week," he tells me.

And just as I am about to open my mouth, I am cut off.

"Peeta!"

The blond hair man in front of me turns his head to face the voice, to face Finn who pulls him into a quick hug, clapping him on the back before taking the open stool beside… Peeta.

"Katniss Everdeen," Finn says to me, "please meet Peeta Mellark, my step-brother."

…

"So you were actually apart of doctors aboard program down in Honduras?"

Peeta nods.

"Really?"

He laughs a little. "I know, it's odd, especially with Finn as my step-brother."

"When he told me he had a step-brother I kind of thought you would be a more bronze image of him."

He laughs again, smiling too so that his teeth show. "I guess I see what you're saying, but it's a bit of an odd picture and a little judgmental.

I shrug. "I'm human.

He nods.

"At least it's not as odd as not knowing who Finnick Odair is," I tell him.

He looks at me funny, finishing off his beer. "You didn't know who Finnick Odair was?"

I nod my head as I pour a round of shots before handing the new waitress whose name I yet to pick up.

A shit-eating smile spreads across his face. "Wow, that's like a kick to the balls for my brother. I mean, that's like deflating his ego and shredding it to pieces."

I roll my eyes. "How many people in Honduras know Finn?"

He smiles. "Surprisingly a lot, they like his movies.

Again I roll my eyes, turning to serve a group of girls a few seats down from Peeta.

"How did he take that?" He asks as I step back toward his way, looking over at Finn and Cato over his shoulder who is flirting with a group of girls, "You not knowing him."

"Not well."

He continues to smile. "Oh, come on. Tell me how much a pain in the ass he was, indulge me."

I smile, shaking my head. "Another," I ask pointing to his empty bottle.

"Will you tell me what Finn did?"

I shrug. "Maybe."

"Fine then," he agrees, "another."

I swipe the bottle away and replace it, filling another order before turning back to Peeta.

"What did he do," he asks.

I let out a breath. "Well after making one appearance and then another during my first week working here, he ended up figuring my section of the bar and so being the man-on-a-quest he is, he was seated in my section by my second week here."

"Really? On purpose?"

I look to him as if he's an idiot.

"Right," he says to himself, "stupid question."

I continue. "He was flirty and persistent and - and Finn."

"And you," he ask.

"I wasn't interested."

"Really?" He asks astonished.

I give him a look. "Do you want to hear the story?"

He snaps his jaw shut, nodding.

"He made sure to sit in my section each time he came. One of the nights somehow in conversation it came up that I had never seen any of his films nor had I known he was famous till I heard girls whispering one night when he came into the bar."

"Not one film?"

I shake my head.

"Wow," he smiles, "You are a wonderful women."

I let out a soft snort, continuing. "Well, being Finn he stayed to past closing and basically kidnapped me."

"Kidnapped?" Peeta exclaims.

I shrug, "More or less. He told me that he would not allow me to go home or l leave the bar until I came with him and saw one of his 'masterpieces.' I don't know how it happened, but the next thing I knew I was in his car and he was driving me into Los Angeles."

Peeta nods, taking a drink from his beer. "Sorry for that hell."

I shrug. "It wasn't too bad."

He raises his eyebrow at me, challenging me.

"Okay, it was." I give in.

He laughs. "What movie did he make you watch?"

…

"Vick," I yell. "Take my place."

He nods his head with excitement, popping off the patch of grass he sits on the sidelines and sprinting to the infield. The other team swaps out players too and Gale gives me a confused look, but I shake my head, jogging off the field.

The game starts up again and I take my place on the sidelines.

It goes on for another twenty minutes or so until the guys we began to pickup game of football with an hour ago decide call it quits and Gales come jogging over toward me. He slows when he gets close before popping a squat near where I lay in the grass.

"You okay?"

I nod, lifting my body up on my elbows which in reality only makes my body hurt more and possible even let a pained expression overtake my face for a mere second.

He looks me up and down, pressing. "Catnip."

"It's just my back," I promise.

"Wasn't that hurting you a few days ago?"

I shrug.

He looks me up and down again as if he looked hard enough he would be able to pinpoint the spot it hurt the most.

"I'm fine." I promise. "I just need to stretch."

He still watches me carefully, unconvinced.

"I'm getting old," I attempt to joke; "Some achy bones are expected."

He rolls his eyes. "You're twenty-two, Katniss."

I quickly shift off the subject, putting my hand out for Gale to take. "Help me and maybe we can go to Sae's before our shift tonight if we get the hell out of here?"

…

"You know counting cards is illegal? Right, sweetheart?"

I smile, watching Haymitch reshuffle the deck, "I wouldn't say I'm card counting."

He grunts, dishing out card.

We play in silence. Haymitch dealing and I whooping ass. Each time I win he mutters a curse under his breath and something about how if we were in Vegas my ass would be handed to me by some casino security. Yet, each time once he's done mumbling he takes a drink, collects the cards, reshuffles them, and then dishes them out again, repeating the entire process.

After the fourth or fifth hand, he finally speaks up again.

"Heard Hollywood has a brother."

I look up from my hand, "Oh yeah? And who did you hear that from?"

"Gale," he shrugs. "The boy asked if you have mentioned him when he came to pick you up after breakfast on Sunday."

"Hu?" I say confused. "Why was Gale asking you if I mentioned Peeta to you?"

Again, he shrugs. "I'm not a mind reader, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes. "You're the one that brought it up."

He thinks about it for a moment before looking at his cards and folding. He pushes the plastic coins toward me and I hand him my cards. He shuffles and deals again.

"I think the boy was jealous."

I neatly laugh. "Jealous?"

He nods.

"Really? This is Gale were talking about?"

He nods again.

"Haymitch, I've only met Peeta two or three times. It's not like I'm going to make him my new best friend. Gale has nothing to be jealous about, even worried about to say at all."

Haymitch shakes his head, tossing a coin into the center of the table. "You're thinking of the wrong kind of jealousy, sweetheart."

"What are you talking about," I question him.

He tosses anything coin into the center of the table. "Just think about it."

…

Scrolling through page after page of the internet I never really click on any of the websites, but read their headline and the little description or expert below before moving on to the next one. As I take a drink of my coffee, clicking to continue onto the next page I hear a voice draw me out from my one personal world and back to reality.

"Katniss?"

Looking up I see Peeta. Tall stature. Broad shoulders. Well built. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Chiseled jaw. Few freckles. Callused hands. Worn watch. Rope bracelets. Tank top. Plain jeans. Black Chucks. Coffee cup.

"Hey Katniss," he smiles, "Didn't know you went here."

I nod. "The only coffee play in town I have even enjoyed in the last four years."

He nods. "Finn recommended."

"And I recommended it to Finn," I smile.

He smiles too. "Well thank you, they got great hot teas." He tells me, gesturing to his coffee cup.

I nod in agreement and we fall into an awkward silence.

"Um," he says, shuffling on his feet. "Is it okay if I - if I sit down," he says motioning to the empty seat in front of me.

I nod my head and he pulls out the wooden chair, setting his tea down on the table and pulling in his seat. Again we fall into another awkward silence, Peeta drinking his tea and I uncomfortable sitting in my seat as I look through website after website.

After a while, Peeta finally ask, "Are you okay?"

"My back has been hurting me."

He nods. "Top or lower back?"

"A little bit above my lower back," I try to explain, "but not so much that you would consider it to be my middle back."

Again he nods, asking another question. "What fine of pain?"

I shrug, trying to think of the words. "It's kind of uncomfortable. Sometimes, when I move a certain way or a little too quick it'll feel worse, but in general it's just - it's just not right." I pause. "Does that make any sense?"

"Kind of, not really." He tells me with a smile.

I roll my eyes. "Why do you even want to know?"

He looks as if I'm stupid and I look to him as if he's crazy. "I'm a doctor, remember? Doctor abroad in Honduras for the last couple of years, remember?"

And then it hits me. He was a doctor. He was a doctor who had just spent time down with people in Honduras for so many years. He was a doctor, Finn had told me and Cato had and Marv had and Peeta himself had even showed me his old hospital ID card.

"Right," I mumble.

He smiles. "Well, I'm no back doctor, but I would go get that checked out."

"Really?" I ask. "Some aspirin and stretch or yoga or whatever new exercise Hollywood is doing won't help?"

"Sadly no," he tells me.

I let out a groan. "That sucks."

"Sorry." He tells me. "But you should. And if you have any other problems, it gets worse or need a recommendation for a doctor just call me and I'll help you out if you want my number, just in case."

"Thanks," I nod, "that'd be great."

…

"Aren't you off today?"

I nod my head, taking off my jacket and slipping on my apron.

"Then why are you here? I mean when you're off from work, you know you're not supposed to show up right?"

"Thom called me and asked if I could take his shift."

Gale looked to me with a questioning expression. "Can't the man work his own shift?"

"He's got a cold."

Gale shook his head, smiling. "He's got a girl over?"

I nod, pushing out of the back room and into the empty bar.

"And she hasn't left, yet," he ask as he follows me into the empty bar with three crates of assorted liquors in hand.

"Either he wants her around for a little bit longer or he hasn't been driven far enough to whoop out his set and kick her out."

Gale snorts, setting down the crates along the bar. "It's hard to get rid of a girl."

"Is that why you text me to come over and save your sorry ass," I ask as I unpack the crates, aligning the bottles along the bar.

"Hey, you signed up for that when you became my friend."

I roll my eyes. "Is it so hard to tell a girl you don't want to be in an actual relationship with her?"

Gale restacks the now empty creates. "Not all girls are like you, Catnip. Not all girls are okay with friendly hookups and not actually being in a serious relationship."

I shrug. "Are you even okay with it?"

"Me?" He ask carrying the crates around the bar and into the back room.

"Yeah," I call after him. "I mean most girls want an actual relationship, labels and all. And if most girls want that I'd think most guys would like that. Don't you want that?"

"Yeah," he says coming back in the room. "Yeah, I want that."

"Then why do you continue sleep around."

His face falls. "The girl I'd want to have all that with, a relationship and a future… that's not on her agenda."

"Oh," I say not really sure what to say.

"Maybe one day it'll happen though. Never give up, right?"

I nod.

…

Around to the back of the house something, someone ran into me, catching me off guard. Pushing me back three steps it takes me a moment to level out. And then when I think that I know what is going on, that I'm going to take one more step back I come to a halt. Again, taking a moment for me to level out I come face to face with Finn.

He gives me a wiry smile. "Hey."

"Hey," I say suspiciously.

"You're staying, right?" He asks in desperation as if he needed me to stay, as if I said no it would be the end of the world.

I raise my eyebrow. "That's why you invited me over right, to come and stay for dinner."

He nods as if he had forgotten. "Well, yeah, let's go."

And so then turning and pushing me forward we continue the way I had intended for my body to go. So further around to the back of the house, we popped out on the deck where two other people I hadn't expected sat.

The first person that came in view was Peeta. I wasn't surprised to see him, but I just didn't know that he would be here. When Finn texted me to come over for Chinese it was always just the two of us, there had never been anyone else; it didn't bother me though that Peeta was there. He was Peeta, I just couldn't explain it. He sat on the steps of the deck that either led you into the house or out to the pool. He was a strange doctor in my mind, always dressing so causally. Today it was a pair of swim trunks and a simple gray v-neck that he looked at peace in, more than Finn was, with a beer in his hand and his sunglasses resting on the brim of his nose.

I couldn't understand why Finn was so distressed, but…

Ten feet behind Peeta on the deck sat in one of the metal chairs around the matching table sat the problem, what was causing all the commotion.

Effie Trinket, Finn's publicist.

Effie was a great women, strange, but a great women. Under the pink high heels stood a mastermind. She did her job well and she never once maybe anyone, even myself doubt her. But, it was Finn who made her job difficult.

As we walked onto the deck, past Peeta I leaned into Finn. "What did you do?"

But it isn't Finn who answers, but Effie who looks up at me with a small smile.

"Katniss," she says, "It's good to see you."

"You too, Effie."

"Did you know Finn has a girlfriend?"

I look to Finn beside me surprised. "Really?"

He nods and I nod.

"Well," I say to Effie. "I'm going to get a drink. You fix whatever damage he caused and please try not to make him cry, he's an ugly crier."

Effie nods in approval and Finn lets out a sigh. And from behind us I hear Peeta let out a soft laugh. Then, in my turn, I excuse myself and escape into the house. Through the house I find myself in the kitchen. Over to the frig I scavenge for a beer when I hear a pair of footsteps behind me.

"Can you grab me one, too," I hear Peeta ask.

Without a response, I grab two bottles and close the door.

"Have you met Finn's girlfriend," I ask, handing him a bottle.

He nods. "She's a friend of mine. They met the day I came back to the States," he tells me. "I just found out last week that they started dating."

I nod surprised. Peeta had only been back near three weeks now and in the year I have known Finn and heard of him, not once had I ever figured him in a relationship.

"How long do you think they will be," I ask.

"A while." He says. "She has been here since I got here an hour ago and from what Finn has told me about her, how she makes sure every aspect of every situation is considered; I think she'll be here a few more hours."

I nod, taking a drink of my beer. "I was really hoping for some Chinese food, too."

Peeta smiles. "You want to go get some."

And I smile too, I wasn't staying.

…

"You have a tumor."

I look at the man in front of me, dressed in a white lab coat and with a stethoscope around his neck as if he is an alien speaking gibberish.

"Excuse me?"

"You have a tumor in your lower back."

Still shocked and kind of astonished I ask, "How?"

"Well-" He begins, but I don't let him finish.

"I don't smoke or work around radiation or drink Kool Aid. I run every day, I take a multi-vitamin, and I recycle. How is that possible?"

The doctor's face falls, turning sympathy. "It just happens, even to the healthiest of people."

"This tumor is-"

But I don't catch what the doctor says after that. This voice seems to fade out and a silence takes over. It was a numbing, buzzing silence that you hear in your ears after going to a concert or a club. If this was a movie, if it was all one big figment of my imagination it would be like the Peanut Gallery and the doctor's voice would take the role of the parents making that "wamp ap wamp" noise and I would stand there nodding my head like I knew exactly what he was saying. Instead I just sit there; I sit there in the more than uncomfortable leather chair in the doctor's two degrees too cold office letting the information just provided sink in.

I have a tumor. I have a tumor and it is-

The doctor's name whom I had already forgotten breaks through the silence saying, "You'll have to start chemo therapy," before once again fading out.

I have a tumor and it is active.

…

Note:

I am going to try to update this every week or two, estimating at least five thousand words long each time. I don't know how many chapter this will be, but I'm thinking of only having maybe around five, it's still not clear though.

Thanks for reading, I hope you like it.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

…

Denial

…

"You're not Finn."

Peeta looks down at himself, as if he needed to check to be sure he wasn't Finn, and then after a moment he looks back up at me. And as if he was unsure about whether or not he was Finn or as if he wasn't completely certain how he was supposed to response to such a statement, he shakes his head, slowly.

"He just went to the hospital to see Annie." He informs me.

I look down to the ground, lost.

_No_.

Finn wasn't here. He wasn't here. When Haymitch was incoherent and when Gale was with the kids I relied on Finn. And even though our friendship was still brief, succeeding no more than a year, I was still able to rely on him. Finn was reliable. He was that kind of person. He was always there, always able to be there. That was - that was Finn

"I don't know when he'll be back," he tells me uneasily. "It could be a few hours."

But…

"Do you want to come in," Peeta ask, unsure what else he could possibly say.

I look up and not knowing what to do, I nod my head.

Peeta steps aside and I step into the house, my feet floating over the wooden floor. The door closes behind us and I stand frozen in the hall, unsure what to do or how to act. Then, I hear Peeta turn on his heels behind me before taking a few steps and coming into view.

"Do you want anything to drink?" He asks as he slowly, taking half steps, makes his down the hall toward the back of the house.

I shake my head.

"Anything to eat?"

Again I shake my head.

"Anything at all?"

I shake my head a third time.

He nods, this time falling silent. He continues moving through the house and out back to the deck. I follow like a lost puppy, going through the motions, but not truly processing what was happening.

I didn't want _this _to be happening. _This_ wasn't happening.

Taking a seat across him at the table Peeta on the deck he looks to me for a moment as if he was expecting me to say something or do something, but to which he receives no response. And then when the moment is gone he seems to snap out of it, going back to continue whatever I had interrupted him from doing when I rang the doorbell.

Time passes and soon enough, Peeta is done whatever paper work he had been filling out. He quickly shuffles and quietly organizes the papers into a neat stack before slipping them into a vanilla folder and leaning back in his chair. The atmosphere seems to grow even more still and uncomfortable than moments before.

Opening his mouth he ask, "Did you go to the doctor about your ba-"

I cut him off, enabling him from finishing his sentence.

At that moment for once in my life I want to the person that speaks, I want to say something. I don't want to listen or asked questions, I just want to lay it all out there on the table instead of someone else, instead of being forced to myself. And in that moment I don't care how odd this, cutting Peeta off, may be or how ludicrous normal me would think of present me. In that moment I was uncaring of what Peeta had to say and was uncaring about how possible rude I was acting. I just wanted to speak.

"I have cancer."

…

"Come on." I plead.

Thom runs his hands through his hair. "I got a date."

"You always have 'dates.'"

"But this is an _important_ date." He argues, fully convinced of himself.

I roll my eyes. "Just because you're going out with some blond bimbo doesn't qualify your date as important. Your date would be important if it was an anniversary dinner or a reconnection with your high school sweetheart or the moment when you're going to propose to the girl of your dreams. That's important. And none of that you, right?"

He opens his mouth. But quickly closes it, knowing I'm right.

"Last time you had a 'date' I wasted away my Thursday night when I had other plans and I did it a few hundred other times before that for you."

"A few hundred? That's an over-exaggeration." He states.

"Thom!"

"What? I mean, this is you were talking about here Katniss, _you_. I mean, did you really have other plans Thursday night?"

"Yes," I snap. "I have a life outside of the Arena, Thom. I know that the fact that cold, hard-ass Katniss has a life outside of the bar may come as a surprise, but I do. I have a life outside you and this bar and I like it very much. I have friends and places to be and things I like to do in my free time besides serving slutty blonds martinis."

He lets out a groan. "What's so important that I have to cover for you?"

"None of your business," I snap. "I never ask you why I must cover for you. I just suck it up and do it because that's what friends do for one another."

"But I tell you why," he says with a smile as if he just won the argument.

I roll my eyes. "And sometimes I wish you wouldn't. Hell, I know about your love life than I do my own. I mean that's a problem. I don't even know what the hell your middle name is, but I know more about your sex life than I should."

He lets out a groan, leaning back against the back wall of the bar and pulling a pack from his pockets. He knocks a cigarette from the pack into the palm of his hand before slipping it between his teeth and lighting it with a lighter I don't even realize he carries in his back pocket. He takes a few puffs before turning his attention back to me.

"What day do you need me to cover?"

…

Haymitch eyes me as I twist in my chair. He doesn't bother to ask what's wrong with me, he never really does. He doesn't like to get personally really. Yet, when he does ever question my being it's always a rhetorical question.

For once I wish he did ask, not rhetorical, but genially. I wish he would ask about why I was squirming and refused to sit still. I wish he would ask why I had been acting strange these past days, more silent than usual. I wish he would cross that invisible line we had created between the two of us and get… personal.

Then, maybe then I would tell him. I would tell him my back aches and not because of stocking cases of boozes at the Arena or from forgetting to strength after running, but because I had a tumor occupying part of my lower spine, that I had a cancerous tumor within me.

He doesn't ask though and I don't tell him. He continues to eat his sandwich and I continue to uncomfortable twist in my chair, attempting to find the most comfortable position.

…

I'm back in the office I was in less than a week ago. It's the same, simple office with gray walls and a mahogany desk. There is a chair on one side of the desk and two on the other side of the desk that faced away from the door and out the window. There were two filing cabinets in the corner and small knit-knats around the room. It was the same office, but I remember very little about it.

A few moments go by before I hear the door open and close behind me and a pair of footsteps comes toward me. By the time they are in front of me I see the same man that sat in the same desk last time and told me the new. Like the room I don't really remember him, but I know he is the doctor as the nametag on his lab coat matches the one on the desk.

Dr. Drew de'Cinna.

He gives me a small smile as he sits down at his desk. "How are you, Katniss?"

"Um," I say, taking in a breath. "I don't really know what happened when I was here last week and I – I -"

He gives me a nod. "You were probably a little too shocked to process everything going on."

I nod, not knowing what else to do.

"I'll go over everything and some if you like."

"You don't have to, you – I -"

"Katniss," he says cutting me off. "It'd be a good thing for you to know all this… and I scheduled our meeting to be at least an hour long so if you just came here to tell me you were too shocked to remember what happened last time I'll have to sit her for an hour and do paperwork I really don't want to do at the moment."

He gives me a smile and I give him a small one in return. "Okay."

"Okay." He says. "What has been causing you that pain and discomfort in you back is a tumor. The tumor is located in a nerve network in your lower back called the sacral plexus. Sadly, it's cancerous. The tumor is small though, two inches about, so that's good. The type of cancer you have is called malignant schwannomas."

He pauses for a moment, allowing me to process everything before continuing.

"Treatment options are usually surgery, radiotherapy, or chemotherapy. Last week I told you, if you would agree, that we start you on chemotherapy."

"Will that um… kill it?"

"Possibly," he tells me, "but usually these types of tumors don't respond quite well to chemotherapy. Radiotherapy is the same way."

"So why do it," I ask, unable able to see the logic behind chemo if it wouldn't work.

"We would use chemotherapy to shrink the tumor and keep it at bay before you would undergo a surgery to have the tumor removed if the therapy fails." He pauses, letting me process. "Does that make sense?"

"So I got a tumor in the nerves of my back that you're going to r=treat with chemo and if that fails you're going to cut it out of me."

He nods, "Basically."

I nod too and there is a moment of silence where he looks to the lock to see there' forty-three minutes left in our meeting.

"Want to go get a cup of crappy hospital coffee with me," he asks, "My treat?"

…

"And then-"

"Cinna!" A voice calls out as me make out way through the lobby of the hospital. Dr. Drew de'Cinna or as he told me to call him, Cinna stops. I do too and he looks around, searching for who was calling him. And as if timing couldn't have been any better, which it couldn't, Peeta came strutting across the lobby toward us.

"Peeta," Cinna smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"I just had my interview for the opening in the pediatrics unit."

Cinna nods and I stand there awkwardly, hoping to go unnoticed, but Cinna says otherwise.

"Peeta this is-"

"Katniss Everdeen," Peeta finishes for him.

I look down at my shoes ashamed. It had been days since I saw Peeta. After my outburst at Finn's house, announcing that I had cancer I made a run for it. The next day at work I switched sections with Gale when he came in and sat down at the bar.

"Are you two friends?" Cinna ask, looking between us.

Neither of us answers. Peeta attempts to, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out.

Cinna nods, taking a step back. "Well, I have to go. Peeta, I wish you the best and Katniss… till next time."

I nod and Peeta mumbles a thank you before it's just the two of us standing there face to face in the hospital lobby completely lost.

"How-"

I cut him off, again. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He says, eyebrows raised. "Why?"

"I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have said that. You didn't have to know, I shouldn't have put that on you."

He nods. "Is that why you're here? The um, the cancer?"

I nod.

"Cinna's a great doctor, you're in good hands."

I nod again.

"Are you okay?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"I'm always here," he tells me, "If you need any medical advice or if you need someone to talk to, a friend… Are we friends?"

I think for a moment. Friends with Peeta would be… normal. It wouldn't be like how my friendship with Thom, how our friendship was based around the bar. Nor would it be like my friendship with Gale where if we didn't know better we would think we were family. Friends with Peeta would be like my friendship with Finn, but less flirtatious and a little more… Peeta-ish.

"Yeah."

…

"You going to answer that," Haymitch ask pointing to my phone which vibrates on the table in front on him.

I flip the burgers on the grill, ignoring him.

Again my phone goes off and Haymitch gives me a look. "Answer it," he says as it vibrates for the third time.

Letting out a breath, I hand Haymitch the spatula in exchange for my phone. I tap the screen and bring the device up to my ear, walking away from the grill.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby! What's up?"

I roll my eyes. "Grilling out back with Haymitch."

"So you're going all the work and the old man in leaning back, having a drink," Finn asks.

"Yeah," I tell him with a soft laugh, "So what's up?"

"What are you doing in um… let's say two weeks' time on a Friday night?"

"Um…" I look around Haymitch's backyard as if my answer is somewhere hidden in the green of the grass and ivy clinging and climbing along the fence. "It depends whether or not I have off from work I suppose."

I can hear him give a wiry smile. "Let's just say, hypothetically, you are."

"Did you talk to Seneca again and request off for me again," I practically scream.

"No," he says in an uneasy tone.

"Finn!"

"Okay, I did."

I let out a groan. "Last time you called me out sick without making me aware that you were doing so. Then you took me to a movie premiere where our picture was taken my a million people. We were the headline of never newspaper, magazine, blog, and broadcast the nest day and Seneca saw it all. I was nearly fired because of you!"

"Well I didn't call you out sick this time," he informs me, "I requested for you to have the night off."

"Finn-"

"We're not going to a premiere again I promise."

"Finn-" I begin, but the next words doesn't make it out.

"I requested for you to have off and you're going to wear a dress."

"Finn-"

"Okay. You'll have off and you'll wear a dress and you'll come to dinner with a smile on your face. Okay? Thanks. Love you, baby. Bye."

And then before I can even get out another word, no less think another thought Finn hangs up and I am left standing on the green grass completely lost.

"The pretty one gets you in trouble again?" Haymitch asks from behind me as he flips the burgers off the grill and onto a plate.

I let out a breath. "Not yet."

…

"Have you've seen Marv?"

I point over to the opposite side of the bar. Cato's eyes follow my finger to where Marv is sitting in a booth to a tall, dark, and mysterious man.

Cato lets out a groan.

"What's wrong?"

Cato finishes his beer, placing it on the bar in front of him, and motions for me to replace it with another. "Finn's go himself a girl, an actual relationship that he's dedicated to and Marv has turned going to the bar into 'let's see whose number I can to tonight.'"

I smile. "How are you friends with Finn again?"

He shakes his head. "Finn's not like that. The man knows when to flirt and when to keep it in his pants." He tells me. "That one," he points over at Marv who is now laughing at something the mystery man across from him said, "doesn't."

I roll my eyes. "What's got you're panties in a twist? You were always one for bar pickups."

"Yeah," he smiles. "You would know that, you were one of them."

I smile too. "That was up to two months ago."

He freezes, falling silent.

"When did she dump you?"

"Who?" He asks trying to play it cool, as if he hadn't froze up about my comment moments ago, as if he knew that I knew.

"Come on, I'm not a dumbass like the rest of them, Cato. You and Glitter or whatever-her-name-is have been going at it for the last two months."

He looks to me suspiciously. "How you know that?"

"Magazines and blog captions, Finn mentioning you two coming over, the fact that you don't hit on girls around here anymore… There's a list."

"Just 'cause I haven't called you up doesn't mean I was in a relationship."

I smile, laughing a little. "The fact that this is the first time you've looked at my ass for the first time in two months begs to differ."

He lets out a breath, taking a long drink of his beer.

"Am I right?"

He finishes his beer, placing it down in front of me and throwing down a few bills before standing up from his seat. He gives me a look and I let out a soft laugh.

"That's what I thought."

…

Breaking the surface, I swipe my hair back.

Finn had disappeared somewhere into the house with Annie and now only Peeta remand. He sat on the edge of the pool in the same pair of blue trunk I had seen him when I came over to Finn's house to find him here.

He gives me a smile. "Can I ask you something?"

I nod, swimming over in his direction to the side of the pool.

"Do the others know? About-" He looks over this shoulder to check if Annie or Finn were anywhere behind, "about the cancer?"

I shake my head.

"I'm the only one?" He asks bewildered.

"Yep," I tell him, popping the 'p.'

"Katniss, these people are you're closest friends," he tells me as if I didn't already know; "They deserve to know."

"And I deserve to pretend a little while that none of this is happening." I say defensively. "I get the right to pretend till chemo starts stealing me of my hair that everything is perfectly fine. I have the right to be normal and not some pity case a little longer."

He lets out a heavy breath. "Why me, though? Why tell me, a guy you barely know?"

And honest I can't tell him why because why myself I don't even know why. I don't know why I told Peeta. I could have told Haymitch whom I had known for more than four years at this point or even Gale whom I had known just as long. I could have told Finn even or Cato. Hell, I could have even told Thom even though we cared a little more than nothing about each other. I could have told anyone else, but instead I told Peeta.

"'Cause you're Peeta," I tell him with a shrug.

"Katniss-"

I stop him, knowing what he's going to ask. "That's the best explanation I can give you. You're just - you're just someone, I don't know, I felt save telling. You have that personality that I'm - I'm comfortable with, that I feel safe with."

I pause looking up at him.

"Does that make sense?"

And he nods.

I nod too, quickly changing the subject. "You going to swim," I ask pointing to his trunks.

He shakes his head.

"Oh come on," I say, "Why not?"

He looks away.

"Come on," I push, "Tell me."

Still looking away he mumbles, "I can't swim."

"You can't swim?"

He bows his head, turning it back toward me.

"How are you and Finn step-brothers? That guy loves the water?"

He shrugs. "It's just something I never learned as a kid. And God, Finn teases me the hell about it, but I just can't."

"I can teach you," I offer.

"Really," he asks, eyebrows raised.

I shrug my shoulders. "Why not?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

I stick my hand out of the water, offering it to him. "Do you trust me?"

"Katniss-"

I roll my eyes, playing it off easy. "I told you, and only you, that I have cancer."

"I know," he tells me, "And that scares me because I have just as much trust in you."

I give him a small smile, understanding. "I'm right there with you."

And then before he can respond I take his hand in mine, plant my feet against the pool's edge, and then push back pulling him into the pool.

…

"Hey, Catnip?"

Rolling over in my bed, my lower back aches. The bright rays of yellow and orange sunshine that stream through the shades block my vision of Gale, but nevertheless, I know he's there. He was the only one that called me that, 'Catnip,' and even if it wasn't for the pet name he kept for me, I knew this voice like it was my own.

"What are you doing here," I mumble.

"You didn't show up for football." He informs me, shuffling over to the right to block out the sun.

"It's only-" I look over the the clock beside my bed that reads twenty-one after twelve. "Twelve twenty-one," I mumble, "an hour past when we were supposed to meet up. Shit."

He nods. "Haymitch is pissed you skipped breakfast."

I roll over, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Then pushing up, I feel that ache pain in the small of my back that causes me to wince.

Gale catches it. "You okay?"

I nod my head.

"What's wrong," he pushes.

"I was doing yoga late night with Finn's new girlfriend and screwed up my back," I bullshit.

He looks at me unsure, not completely believing what I said, but at the same time not really wanting to push me.

"So the new girlfriend is real?"

I nod thinking about last night. Finn, Peeta, Cato, myself, and Finn's new girlfriend, Annie Cresta, a scriptwriter hung out at Cato's place. We had sat around playing 'Never Have I Ever" for hours on ending, eating pizza and drinking beer. It was a pretty laid back night at Cato's compared to most nights spent there.

"And a decent human being." I add.

Gale lets out a small laugh, offering me his hand which I unwillingly take. "That's a surprise."

I nod, making my way over to my closet where I strip out of my shorts and tank top, not bothering that Gale is in the room, before pulling on a pair of running pants and an old long sleeve lifeguard shirt from college over my head.

"I know," I tell him as a turnaround in search of my shoes. "And you'd like her."

"Right," he jokes.

"Really."

He rolls his eyes, tossing me my shoes and a pair of socks. "I'll decide for myself if I ever get to meet the girl. Now, come on or we're going to be late for Vick's basketball game."

…

As I hand Finn a stack of three plates and three forks to go along with it he tells me, "He got the job."

"Who?" Haymitch asks, sauntering into the kitchen.

Finn places the plates around the table, not bothering to properly set the forks to the left of each one, but instead let them lay out on top of each one. "Peeta," he informs Haymitch as he takes a seat, "My brother."

Haymitch's eyes just about pop, surprised. He looks to me for reassurance, as if he wished I would tell him Finn was just messing with him, that it was all a lie. "The pretty one has a brother?"

"Step-brother," I correct him as I set the cartons of Thai food on the table.

Haymitch looks to Finn suspiciously. "Since when do you have a step-brother? Sweetheart has never mentioned one and the only people she ever mentions is either you or tall, dark, and mysterious. And, I mean, I thought one of you would be the end of the world, but now there's another one of you I'm surprised we all haven't combusted."

Finn rolls his eyes, turning his attentions to the cartoons.

"They're not blood related," I tell him. "And Peeta, the step-brother, is probably the only reason this one hasn't ended the world."

Haymitch shows a small smile and Finn mumbles a protesting no through his mouth full of noodles.

"You'd like him," I tell Haymitch.

"Everyone likes him." Finn says, swallowing the noodles. "It's hard not to like the guy. It's probably a sin if you don't like Peeta. You'd have to be Satan if you hated the guy."

I agree with Finn, giving a small nod as I take my seat at the table.

"Even sweetheart?" Haymitch pushes.

Finn nods with a smile, a board smile that reveals his pearly white. "And Peeta especially likes sweetheart."

Haymitch snickers and Finn does too.

I roll my eye ignoring them. "We're just friends."

"That's what they all say." Haymitch laughs, turning to Finn intrigued. "So who is this Peeta?"

"He's…"

…

I run my hands along my lower back where the achiness has seemed to grow in the past week. Maybe it was because of my awareness that there was a tumor inhabiting my lower spine or maybe it was just because that's what tumors do, cause pain. But there was a pain of sorts in my back, something that kept me from leaning against my headboard.

It kept me from doing a lot of things. Slouching at time, running some afternoons, bending in awkward position at times, doing my daily ab workout, etc., etc. aspirin didn't seem to help and the pills Cinna had written me a prescription for still sat in the anonymous bin on my kitchen counter, never to be filled.

It hurt and that meant something, it meant that this, now, my back, it mattered.

Letting out a soft breath I shake my head and turn my attention away from thoughts of my cancer and back to my laptop. Scrolling through the latest deposits into my bank count and then through my emails I come upon one from the hospital.

_Shit._

Moving my fingers across the mouse-pad, I bring the clicker to the message and click on its bolded letters. Then I begin to read.

_Dear Ms. Everdeen…_

…

Making my way out the back door, half awake, I don't even realize Thom leaning against the wall. As he takes a long drag of his cigarette I give him a questioning look. Usually he was the first one out of here, even before Gale.

"Sparkplugs." He informs me.

I nod. "Do you need a ride," I ask motioning to Haymitch's car that I had driven hours ago to work after the old man persisted I take it instead of walk.

"Yeah," he nods, "Thanks."

I nod and he takes one last drag out of his cigarette before tossing it down onto the ground and stomping it out. Then, looking up at me I nod again for the third time, stepping t Haymitch's car. Thom follows and gets into the passenger seat when I lean against the console and physically unlocking the car instead of using one of the side buttons I fear would set of the 'my cars being broken into' alarm.

I start the ignition and turn on the headlights. We pull out of the parking lot in a matter of seconds following. Thom doesn't give me directions of where to go and I don't ask him for any having been over his place a handful times.

The drive is short, no more than fifteen minutes, and silent, not a single word spoken… that was till I pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building.

"I know you've been trying to play it off or whatever, but I know something's up."

I look over to him confused, trying to play it off… cool as if I had no idea what he was talking about

"Don't try to down play it," he tells me, "You're just - just not good at lying."

I remain silent.

"Whatever it is, I can tell it's eating you up inside. And I don't care what it is, but I'm going to be soon if you keep trying to act like whatever-it-is is okay. You may think you're great at hiding things, but really you aren't. I know Gale has overlooked it at this point and I know its eating him alive to know what's wrong with you. Finn on the other hand, well, I think he's just picking it up."

I don't say anything.

"Whatever it is, you got to get if off your chest. That's all I'm saying."

"Thanks," I tell him the smallest, sincerest voice I can muster up.

He nods his head and like how he got into the car, he slips out without a word, walking up the stone pavement and through the front door of the apartment building.

…

"They're ditching us," Peeta tells me as he slips his phone back into his pocket.

I nod, pressing my palms against my thighs.

"Um," he drags out, looking around the restaurant. "I'm not really a raw fish kind of guy and - ah -"

I smile. "Neither am I."

Peeta smiles too, relieved. "Do you, and we don't have to, but do you want to get out of here. I mean neither of us like raw fish and we're basically at a sushi bar for all I know."

"There's a burger place two blocks down," I nod.

Without a word, Peeta removes his napkin from his lap and places it beside this plate. Then, he stands up from his seat and offers me his hand which I willingly take. We don't say a word as we exit, but walk straight out of the building till we find ourselves on the sidewalk.

Outside on the street, the sun is setting and the air is cool with a soft breeze causing it to be cooler than it truly was. Goosebumps appear across my arms and I curse Finn for making me wear the simple, red dress Posy had talked me into buying for my graduation that did not had sleeves, but instead thinner than thin spaghetti straps. The outfit itself wasn't me, a dress that had cuts along its sides and only reached my mid-thigh with a pair of high heels wasn't something I commonly found myself in, even during formal occasions.

Peeta must realize this chill as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I turn to him in protest, but he gives me a look that tells me not to bother. And I, in favor of the warmth his jacket engulfs me in, accept this jacket, slipping my arms into the sleeves.

We walk the two blocks in silence, a comfortable silence. It isn't till after we're seated at one of the small wooden tables outside at the burger joint that either of us speaks.

"You're not one of those girls who eat salads are you?"

I laugh. "I'm a bacon cheeseburger type of girl."

He sighs. "God. I mean I know as a doctor I'm supposed to be about health, but I can't stand when girls eat salads. It's just not food; I don't understand how people can live off that."

"I'm the kind of girl that can eat a whole pizza on my own," I tell him with an uneasy smile.

He lips quirk up the slightest bit in the corner of his mouth as if he is trying to hold back a laugh. "That may be considered extremely unhealthy, but I approve."

I nod and our waiter comes over to the table. He exchanges his name for out orders and then it's just Peeta and I.

"Twenty questions?" Peeta ask. "We have a little while before the food comes."

"Sure," I nod.

"What's your favorite color?"

I bite my lip. "Green. A dark shade."

He nods. "I like that, suits you."

"What's yours?"

"Orange." He tells me. "Not neon, but - but like the sunset."

"I like that," I smile.

…

The sky is dark, lit with lights from the city. It's late, near one. I am still in my dress and heels with Peeta's jacket engulfing me. He had dropped me off outside the Haymitch's house after making me promise to have dinner with him. And as I climb the steps to my door I find Gale.

Gale. He's still dressed in his jeans and the black v-neck Seneca requires for us to wear. His hair is disheveled and overall looks a little off. As he hears me come up the steps he looks up.

"When were you going to tell me?"

I look to him confused.

"When were you going to tell me?" He repeats, this time standing up.

"What are-"

"The cancer," he nearly shouts. "When were you going to tell me you have cancer?"

Then it hits me like it did when Cinna had first told me. Shock.

"Katniss." He presses.

"I - I - how do you-"

"How do I know?" He shakes his rhetorically. "I'm listed as your emergency contact. Your doctor, da'Cinna or whatever his name is, called me today when he couldn't get ahold of you to ask if I was the one taking you to chemo because you mentioned to him that you didn't have your own means of transportation. He was worried."

I look down at my head.

"When were you going to tell me?"

And then, in that moment something snaps inside me. "I don't know," I yell back, "I don't know!"

"I'm your best friends, Catnip. I could have been there for you. I could have done - done whatever. You didn't have to hold it in."

"There's nothing you could have done. I didn't need anyone to be there for me. I was, I am fine." I tell him.

He snorts. "Stubborn as always."

I roll my eyes.

"You still could have told me. You could have told Haymitch. You could have told anybody."

"I did." I snap.

Its then for the first time he takes in what I'm wearing, looking at me from head to toe and over again for a third time. "Is that why you're dressed up. Went out with Finn and Cato and Marv to celebrate the _great_ news. Broke the news to your boys over expensive caviar and boozes."

My stomach lurches and I shake my head. "Gale-"

"No, is that you did? Told your celebrity buddies before me, your best friend?"

"Gal-"

"That's what happened, right? Had a party because you have you're celebrity buddies and they're going to pay for it. They're going to make sure you get the best treatment, something I can't give-"

"Peeta." I spit. "I told Peeta."

He falls silent and so do I. we both stand still, heavily breathing. Neither of us moves makes a move nor do either of us makes a peep. Some time passes and Gale steps around me and hurries down the step without a word leaving me in the dark.

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

…

Resistance

…

I never thought I would be here. Even after getting the call form the hospital telling me so and even after being told straight to my face more than once that I would be showing up on this exact day at this exact time for this exact reason. I still never thought I would be here.

But here I was.

I sat along the wall of the white corridor. It was too clean smelling, that clean smell that I could only label as hospital clean. They had me seated in a lounge chair, something like one would find in a living room, but with a plastic-like cover instead of one made of leather. They offered me a blanket and a pillow and to each I politely shook my head no.

There were other people in the room. Some like me were seated in the lounge chairs and others were on hospital beds. The majority of them were attached to tubes and monitors and others were momentarily being hooked up or unhooked. Some had others, family and friends, with them, sitting beside some on the bed or on plastic chairs and others were single out. Some had their curtains drawn around their section where they were placed and others were left open, uncaring and unbothered.

It was part of the cancer ward, the white corridor that was hospital clean smelling.

The only thing in the room that revealed this room was part of the cancer ward beside the sign above the doors when entering was the sickness, the sense of sickness. I don't know how, but you could just tell that the people had cancer. Maybe it was the number of bald skulls or the numerous numbers of different colored bandanas. It could have been the swollen-like faces or in my opinion, too ashy-like skin. I don't know, but in my opinion, you could just tell with or without.

The cancer, the sense, the presence just… I wanted it to go away. And the only way I could think of ridding of it was by walking away. I nearly thought of leaving, but even then, I wouldn't be capable of escaping it.

And then it happened.

Everything went from surreal to - to the exact opposites. What I never thought would happen began to happen. It became real.

Cinna came in as the nurse began to hook me up with IVs and tubes and all. He explained how the chemotherapy process would work and all the scientific aspects of it which just went right over my head. Then, he began to list all the possible side effects: vomiting, hair loss, swelling, nerve change, pain, appetite change, nausea, etc. etc.

Soon enough he was gone and the drugs were seeping through my body.

…

"Finn." I say aloud, pushing through the backdoor.

He doesn't respond.

I kick off my Chucks before continuing through the house. I look from room to room, knocking on doors and repeating his name till I come to his bedroom. I pause for a moment there in front of the door before knocking on the wood, repeating his name, and entering.

And, there to my relief was Finn.

In the middle of the room he was laid out on his bed, dressed in his boxers and nothing more, just staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. His form was quiet and peaceful and still. He was waiting in a sense, as if he knew I would have been coming by.

I walk across the room and lay down beside him, crossing my left leg over my right, knotting my fingers across my stomach, and shifting my spine back and forth till I lay in the least uncomfortable position.

"I know." He tells me.

I nod my head. "At least I didn't have to break the news."

"Haymitch told me," he informs me.

I shrug my shoulders against the bed sheets. "Figured."

"And Gale told him." He adds.

I smile. "Are you going to tell _Us Weekly _or _People_ or _OK!,_ keep this game of whisper down the lane alive?"

He ignores the question, continuing.

"A lot of famous people have beat cancer," he tells me. "Sheryl Crow, Tom Green, Sharon Osbourne, Robert De Niro, Kathy Bates, there's a lot of people who have beat it. I mean, there's Lance Armstrong who just keeps on getting it and that guy has yet to die." He pauses for a moment before exclaiming, "He has one ball! One! I mean, hell I'd throw the flag in if you took away one of my balls."

"You've done your research."

He nods.

"The only thing is that I'm not famous, Finn."

I can't see his face, but from what he says I can't imagine him doing anything other than smile as he says, "You did have your fifteen minutes as a result of that movie premiere."

I smile, nodding my head. "I suppose you're right."

"So you'll beat it." He tells me. "You'll kick cancer in the ass, show him whose boss."

I let out a soft laugh. "You know hundreds of non-famous have survived cancer, right?"

"Yeah," he in a small voice, "but you don't ever about those people. You never ever really hear if they won or not."

"I can't say the odds are in my favor, but… you know."

Finn hardly nods and we fall silent, looking up at the white of his bedroom ceiling. Time follows and we continue to stare in silence. It isn't till I become too antsy that I finally open my mouth.

"You're not mad I didn't tell you," I ask, tilting my head to face him.

He tilts his head too, "No."

"Why?"

He smiles. "Because you're Katniss Everdeen. You wouldn't have told anyone till your hair was falling out and puking on someone's shoes. Even then, I'm not sure if you would have told anyone. You are too stubborn and prideful for you own good."

I roll my eyes. "I hate how well you know me."

…

The bar is awkward. Unbearably awkward… and that's putting the situation nicely.

Gale and I had worked one night, a - thee Tuesday, following him showing up at Haymtich's house after I had come back from dinner with Peeta. Then it was awkward without a doubt, but it wasn't this awkward. Then we were able to stay in our own sections and work without making ourselves known to the other, we were able to act as if nothing had even occurred between the two of us.

Now, now it was different.

Being a Friday and with Thom behind the bar with us and twice the number of servers and twice the number of people it was the exact opposite and extremely unbearably awkward. We would from time to time float out of our sections and bump into one another or make eye contact or reach for the same bottle of liquor or call out for the same thing. It was to say the least, extremely unbearably awkward.

"What's up his ass," Thom asks looking to Gale.

"Me."

He laughs, pouring a guy and his buddy two rum and cokes. "You?"

"Yeah," I say annoyed me, "me."

"Well that's not much of a surprise." He raises his eyebrows. "What you do?"

"Me," I say in protest, "Why is it me?"

"Because you're up his ass, not the other way around." He speaks like a clever genius, using my own words to his advantage. "Logic."

I roll my eyes, handing the waitresses whose name I learned to be Leevy a tray of shots.

"What you do, Katniss?" He presses.

Again, I roll my eyes not only annoyed at his pressing, but by the fact that for once Thom actually seemed to give a shit about me. It was just something I didn't need anyone to do; I was capable of caring for myself.

"I didn't tell him I have cancer."

Thom nearly drops the bottle he is holding. "You have cancer?"

I nod my head, pouring another beer from the tap.

And then, from the caring person he seemed to be moments ago, Thom went right back to being the Thom I knew. And shaking his head and wiping his hands on the apron around his waist he muttered, "Shit," before stepping to the counter to serve three girls.

...

Haymitch opens his door before I can even knock. The old man was always one step ahead of me, as if he had played this game before or just knew what strategy he had to play to come out in the lead. "'Bout time," he grunts.

I cross my arms across my chest. "What were you expecting? A parade?"

He smiles, shaking his head. "I was expecting you to have the decency for you to tell me yourself instead of your friend of yours calling me up during my poker game to ask if I was taking you to your chemotherapy treatment."

"Hay-"

He cuts me off, enabling to me finish. "It's called decency, sweetheart. I know you may never have taught it or given it by anyone, but decency is you telling me that you got back cancer instead of a boy on the phone who isn't so sure himself."

I look down at my shoes. "Sorry." And I am.

He lets out a breath, nodding uncomfortably as he knows I am being honest and between the two of us any expression of care is rare.

There's a moment of silence.

Then he speaks again. "What going on?"

"Gale and I are – fighting, I guess and Finn has a lunch to go to meet Annie's parents and well Thom is Thom and…" I trail on about who-knows-what.

"Sweetheart," he cuts me off again, "What's the point?"

"Can you take me to the hospital?"

He looks to me almost in a panic. "Something wrong?"

"Beside the cancer?" I shake my head. "But I have a chemo session in an hour that I missed the bus to hospital and I know I could take a taxi, but they freak me out so much, just you and a complete stranger in a car that you aren't driving and it just isn't right…" I trail on, again.

"Sweetheart," he cuts me of, repeating, "What's the point?"

"I could really use a ride."

Haymitch nods his head without a second thought telling me yes as he reaches for the bowl on the table beside the door where he stores his keys and wallet. "Let's go."

…

Peeta gives me a sad smile, rubbing small circles up and down along my already achy back.

"Is this the first time?" He asks.

"Throwing up? Or chemo throwing up?" I ask leaning over the bin between my legs.

"Chemo throwing up," he confirms.

I just about nod my head telling him that this is in fact the first time I have barfed up all my internal organs plus some as a result of the chemotherapy before feeling the burning, acidic bile creeping up my esophagus. There is no chance of me stopping it from escaping my body, but only stopping it from spilling all over myself. So quickly, jerking my body forward I bend my head down just in time as my body quivers and I choke as the acids expels.

Peeta continues to rub circles along my back, no doubt looking at me pitifully.

By the time there is no more to choke up, I feel my body slump. Tired. Peeta leaves my side for a moment before returning with a wheelchair and a small plastic cup of blue liquid.

"To wash your mouth out," he tells me handing me the cup.

I gratefully take it, swooshing the liquid around my mouth for a few short moments, letting is rid my mouth of all things that I would suppose one to describe as tasting as worse than ass, before spitting it into the bin between my legs. Then, taking the bin from me and placing it on the top of the bed Peeta motions for me to get into the wheelchair.

I raise my eyebrows.

"I don't want you to be going home like this," he tells me. "There are some empty beds in the pediatric ward that you can rest in for a bit till you stop puking out your guts."

"Pediatrics ward?"

"It's my ward. I can keep an eye on you there."

I open my mouth, but again, I feel that sense of bile brewing in the pit of my stomach that causes me to quickly shut it before I can even get a single word out.

He gives me a look and I unwilling allow my body to slip off the bed I was seated on and into the chair. Peeta waste no time pushing me down the hall and into the first open elevator. He takes me up several levels before exiting, still pushing me along. We go down some halls and into the pediatric ward where he breezes by the front desk telling whatever nurse behind it that he will be setting me up in Room 12.

And so down the hall, Peeta wheels me into Room 12. The room is no doubt part of the pediatrics' ward with its cartoon like drawings of birds along the walls and sticker covered monitors and smiley face covered bed sheets.

He offers me his hand, but I refuse, lifting myself onto the bed.

He gives me a smile. "Don't puke everywhere, okay?"

"I'll try not to."

He nods, still smiling. "I'll check on you every so often."

…

"You haven't shown up to Sunday football in the park for a while now," Vick tells me.

I nod my head. "I've been busy."

He nods his head, saying no more. Some time passes and he excuses himself. Some more time passes and then Rory is sitting beside me on the picnic bench in the back yard of the Hawthorne's home.

"You going to finish that," he asks pointing to my half-eaten hamburger.

I look down at the piece of meat and shake my head as the food makes my stomach curl and knot in all the wrong ways.

He takes the opportunity and picks up the burger and takes a bite. "You and Gale still fighting?"

"He hasn't looked me straight in the eye for weeks."

Rory nods his head, knowing what I mean - yes. Quickly he changes the subject. "You look like you lost weight."

I look down at myself, unsure if the statement is true or not. Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. It wasn't clear in my eyes, some days I felt like a whale and other days I felt like a stick.

"And you look pale," he adds.

I shrug knowing that was true. My skin had turned a shade or two lighter than its usual sun-kissed, olive tone. "That's what happens it seems when you get cancer."

He nearly spits out his food. "You have cancer?"

I nod.

He looks to me in all seriousness. "You better not be joking with me, Katniss. 'Cause cancer isn't one of those things you can screw a person with." And when he sees me say nothing, he continues. "Since when?"

I shrug my shoulders. "A little while now."

"Shit." He mutters the same way Thom had when I told him that night at the bar. "Is that why Gale's pissed?"

"More or less of the fact that I didn't tell him and that he found out from my doctor calling to ask if he was going to give me a ride of to chemo."

"Shit," Rory mutters again in the same way Thom had when I told him that night at the bar.

"Yeah."

"That ain't right." He tells me.

I smile a little as I look at the porch where Posy stands beside Vick at the grill and Hazel escapes into the house to refill her water bottle. "That's life."

…

Hearing the knock at my door I go to pull it open to see a face that does not belong to Haymitch or Finn or even Gale for once, but Peeta's. He was presentable Peeta as always even without his lab jacket and pressed slacks. In the moment he was dressed in green, khaki-like shorts and gray shirt, presentable and in my favor, green.

"Hey," he smiles.

I give him a wiry smile. "Hey."

"You want to go out with me, to lunch, right now?" He asks in kind of a panic.

I look down at myself in my old jean shorts and UCLA sweatshirt. "Right now?"

"Yeah," he forces out, "If you can or, you know, if you want to. But you don't have to if you can't or, you know, if you don't want to."

I look down at myself for a second time. I wasn't one to care about my appearance, especially when it came to being around others. I wore what I wanted and told whomever didn't like it to go screw themselves. But at that moment it was it was different, it was at that moment that it was as if I felt self-conscious, no at that moment I was self-conscious.

"Um," I say. "Let me grab some shoes."

He nods his head and I escape back inside. I move quickly, grabbing my phone and wallet. I slip my Chucks on as I exit again, closing the door behind me.

"Ready?" He asks.

I nod.

"Good, there's this great bar-b-que place a mile or so from here that I think you'll like. It's got great ribs and I hear the pulled pork is the best around in a fifty mile radius."

"Brutus's Beef," I ask looking up at him.

He slowly nods. "Yeah. You know the place? It's a pretty small place, off the map nearly; I just about missed it when I was looking for it last week."

I smile. "I went to UCLA with Brutus, the owner." I tell him pointing to my sweatshirt, leaving out the fact that this sweatshirt in fact once belonged to him, Brutus himself.

"Oh." He nods. "Cool."

And I nod to adding as we make our way down the steps. "And I dated him."

…

"Everdeen," he just about yells as we enter the small dive.

"Brutus," I reply with a smile and not as much excitement as him.

He smiles, coming around the bar and swooping me up into a bear hug so that my entire body is lifted up off the ground. He spins me, us around before he gives me one last tight squeeze before setting me down. "What's up?"

"Lunch."

He smiles. "Always direct." He looks to Peeta, giving him a flashy smile. "Hey man, Brutus."

"Peeta."

He turns his attention back toward me. "So how has the afterlife been treating you? I haven't seen you around since you and Haymitch came to the opening of this place over a year ago."

I shrug. "Working at the Arena."

"That's a hot spot," he smiles.

"The tips are great." I agree.

He smiles. "So lunch? Bar? Table? Deck? What?"

I look to Peeta, asking his preference. "Deck?" He offers.

I nod. "Deck."

"Okay," Brutus nods. "Follow me."

And we do. We follow him through the tall tables and around the bar where people were already eating and drinking. He leads us to the back of the dive where he guides us out the doors and onto the deck, seating us along the edge where ivy grew along the brick hurdle.

"Whiskey?"

I shake my head. "Water."

He nods, turning to Peeta. "What about you, Pete?"

"Same," he tells him, brushing of the fact that Brutus had just called him Pete.

Brutus nods, leaving so it was just the two of us.

I give him a small smile.

"You dated him?" He asks.

I purse my lips, nodding.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

He nods his head as he contemplated the relationship over in his head, wondering how I managed with a guy like Brutus, a guy with the label of "big man on campus" that not one person would guess to have graduated in the top ten percent from UCLA with a double major in business economics and statistics. And the cooking aspect of his being, that was something entirely else, that was blood, something he was born with.

"We did track and field together. I ran and he threw. We worked out in the gym together after practice."

"Track was your common ground?"

I nod. "And partying."

He raises his eyebrows. "And partying?"

"Yeah," I nod. "We had met at a party our sophomore year, that's how the whole working out together part of our relationship began."

Peeta slowly nods his head. "I would never pictured you as a party girl."

"You probably wouldn't picture me as many of the things that I am."

He smiles. "Like what?"

…

"You making pancakes in there?" Haymitch calls out from the other room.

I roll my eyes knowing that he can't see me. "No, I'm converting your kitchen into a drug lab."

Annie lets out a soft laugh, smiling.

"As long as the police don't show up and as long as I get pancakes out of it I don't care." Haymitch says from the other room.

Annie lets out a soft laugh again as I pour the last of the batter into the frying pan. "So this is Sunday breakfast?"

"More or less."

She smiles. "Has Peeta ever come over… for breakfast?"

I shake my head, keeping my attention on the pancakes in the frying pan.

"Why not," she asks.

I look at the two pancakes in front of me for a few moments, a few silent, thinkable moments before looking back up at Annie with a shrug.

"Haven't you guys gone out on six or seven dates so far, not including when he goes to the Arena with Finn and the guys or when we all hang out with each other as a group?"

I think for a moment, counting the times we have gone on dates. There was the time we had lunch at Brutus's Beef, bowling that Tuesday night, Thai food on the Haymitch's porch, Black Jack at chemo, a walk up to the Hollywood sign, homemade pizza at Peeta's apartment, and I sleeping when he took me to the park for a music festival.

I nod my head.

"Well why not have him over here for Sunday breakfast with Haymitch. That guy Gale Finn talks about has been over, Cato said he has been over once, Finn has definitely been over, and even, hell, I have?"

I flip the two pancakes, turning down the burner.

"Haymitch is your uncle and you've met half of Peeta's family, Finn, so why not have him over for this traditional Sunday breakfast?"

I look down at the pancakes. Gale still hadn't questioned me in the last four years whether or not Haymitch was truly my uncle and Finn had done the same in the last year and now even Annie didn't have a second thought about. Haymitch never said otherwise to them all and I never had agreed with any of them that Haymitch was in fact my uncle, but let them think what they like.

I turn off the burner, flipping the two pancakes onto the plate with the others.

"Maybe next week I'll ask him to come."

Annie smiles.

…

"So you and Peeta," Marv says waggling his eyes and in return causing Cato to roll his.

"Jealous?" I smile, pouring a round of shots on a serving tray before handing it off to Leevy.

Marv, laughs, a hearty laugh of the sorts that causes one's chest to rumble. "Oh, you wait, Kitty, I'll have him batting for the other team in no time."

I smile, turning my attention to a group of men. By the time I fill a pint for each of them I turn to see Marv gone and just Cato remaining.

"So you and Peeta," he ask, pushing his glass toward me for a refill.

I shrug. "I don't know what it is really."

"He does. The guy likes you, a little more than that guy Gale does."

I laugh, pushing this glass. "Gale and I are just friends."

"Just like were friends?" He teases, taking a long drink from his glass.

"No," I tell him, rolling my eyes. "We go back a little over four years. We're just friends. He the closest person in the area that I can consider that isn't family."

"Mhm," he nods, "Sure, Katniss."

"I am sure," I tell him in a stern voice, feeling the anger building inside me. "We have only ever been friends and I'm pretty sure that's all we'll ever be. He knows I don't feel that way and I know he doesn't either."

Cato laughs, "Half that's right."

"What are you saying," I press.

"Katniss, the day following the first time we fucked he showed up. He showed up at my apartment. He came and told me to fuck off, to leave you alone, to not play with something that was clearly is. He made it clear that he wasn't afraid of me and that I should be afraid of him. And he went on and on. Enough said he basically confessed his love to you."

"Cato-" I begin, but don't finish.

"I thought you knew. But I assumed the feelings just weren't returned. We kept hooking up and he kept giving me death stares."

"Cato-" I begin, plead.

"It took me to realize that you were just completely oblivious to it all and that was fine."

"Cato-" I barely make it out.

"But now you're being oblivious to the wrong person. The guy, Peeta, he's not like Gale, he's not staking claim in you before he can, but the damn saint is trying to win you over. That's saying something. And then there's the entire cancer thing which anyone could go on and on about."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He finishes his beer, pushing the empty glass across the counter. "Just look a little closer."

…

He opens the door before I knock a second time. He doesn't say anything when he sees me, his jaw goes slack and the locks.

"I'm possibly dying and we're too stubborn for our own good, but I'm not here for me, but so if I do die I don't want to go down into my grave with unresolved issues."

"Ca-"

I don't let him finish. "Cato talked to me last night at the bar and supposedly I'm oblivious to every freakin' thing in the world. You like me more than friends, so much that you went to his house and told him not to lay a finger on me or else. You told him to basically leave me alone and not play with things that weren't his. And this and that and this and that."

I pause, checking to make sure he's still following before continuing.

"Just tell me, okay? Is that true? Have you been pinning or whatever after me? Have you've been laying claim on me like I'm yours?"

His face falls. "It's not like that."

"But it is, in some form? Right?"

"No, Catnip, not like that."

"Than what," I press, pleading for him to just spit it out.

"I love you."

I fall silent, not knowing what to say. I fall silent; too shock to even believe my own ears. I fall silent, consumed by the weight of his words.

"Catnip?"

"No. No, no, no." I say shaking my head. "You can't say that. Not now. Not after all the shit you put on me for keeping the knowledge _my_ cancer to _myself_. Not after I have finally _found someone_ that I give a shit to think of twice before making a move, that I - I care for in a non-platonic way. Not now, not when for once everything isn't a pile of shit, but kind of okay for once. You can't say that, you have no right to say that."

He stands silent.

…

"You should bring this one around more often, sweetheart."

I smile, shaking my head. "Are my pancakes not good enough for you?"

"Compared to that boy's cinnamon buns," he says, "I'm surprised I haven't yet died."

I roll my eyes.

"The boy can cook."

And that is true, something I would not deny. From his homemade pizza to even the little spice or whatever he adds to microwave popcorn was just great. If he wasn't a doctor, he sure as hell would have been a chef, and a good one at that.

I nod my head, collecting the plates from the table. With the stack in hand, I leave Peeta and Haymitch alone as I exit for the kitchen. I know it's not my smartest move, but unless I hear one screaming bloody murder I know not to think twice.

I place the plates in the kitchen sink, turning on the water and scrubbing them cleaning before placing this in the dishwasher. I continue this with the pans and bowls and utensils scattered about the kitchen counter. It isn't till I place the last of the spoons into the dishwasher that Peeta strides into the room with three glasses in hand. I take them without a word, putting them into the machine and shutting the door just before pressing the 'Start' button.

Then it's just the two of us… and the soft purr of the dishwasher.

He gives me a smile. "Haymitch is… interesting."

"Yeah," I laugh. "Well, that's what you get when you combine a retired movie producer and an alcoholic."

"He's one of the betters."

I nod my head.

There's a moment of silence where neither of us say a word and a moment where neither of us move. Yet, the moment passes and Peeta moves beside me leaning back against the counter and bumping his elbow to my bicep.

"He's not your uncle is he?"

I shake my head, taking in my breath. "Everyone thinks he is though."

"Do you mind if I ask who he is?"

"He's an ex-producer with an in-the-process-of-getting-better alcohol problem that six years ago after leaving the business put the upper half of his house up for rent and did not get one single offer till four years later when I came to town."

He nods. "Where are you from?"

I smile. "Jersey."

He smiles too, I can feel it. "East coast meets west coast."

"The story of my life."

There's another moment of silence and this time when it comes to an end, it's me who speaks up.

"I don't have any 'family.' Haymitch is the closest thing to family I have, he's practically adopted me since I moved in; especially after your brother pulled that stunt and took me to that movie premiere where following, the paparazzi went on a wild geese chase to find information out about me till Haymitch… you would say, spoke his mine."

Peeta laughs. "Sounds like a nice family."

…

Seneca comes striding out of the back room, through the crowd of people who had just began to accumulate within the hour, right behind Finn.

"She's leaving," Finn mutters as he comes around the bar, lifting up the counter and stepping inside.

Seneca pounds his fist against the counter, looking Finn dead in the eye. "She has six hours left in her shift."

"She has pukes twice since she had been here. Less than three hours and she has emptied her stomach twice already. She is leaving."

"She leaves and she's fired."

Finn grits her teeth taking my wrist in his hand. "You fire her and I sue your ass."

"For what," he laughs.

"For the endangerment of one's health."

"Just because she puked-"

Yet, Finn doesn't let him finish finally realizing that I have yet to tell Seneca of my condition, of the cancer. "She has a tumor in her spine, cancer. She shouldn't be here, especially following receiving chemo treatment."

And that shuts Seneca up.

There's a moment of silence. All silence expect for the semi-thudding of the music that travels through the speakers and the soft talk of the people inside. Neither one of them talking, but just staring at one another. And after so long and a deep breath, Seneca nods.

Finn doesn't think twice, but takes the bottle of gin from my hands, placing it back on its shelf behind the counter, and tugs me out from behind the bar and toward the exit.

…

I wanted to vomit. That's what I wanted, not for the tumor in my back to be gone and everything be back to normal the way it was before, but to vomit. Sadly, there was nothing to vomit.

Rolling over in the unfamiliar bed, my eye caught a figure standing in the doorway. Peeta. He gave me a small, thin smile that made me sad. He looked at me as if he pitied me, as if he felt sorry. And he probably did, that was Peeta, compassionate. Only I didn't want sympathy in that moment, all I wanted to do was vomit.

"You okay?"

"I just want to throw up," I groan.

This gets him to smile, a true, blissful, Peeta smile. "Sorry." He tells me as he crosses the room and pushes me aside so he can lie beside me.

"Why am I here?"

"Finn had a meeting with Effie and decided he trusted me more than Marv to watch you."

I nod my head. "Did he get me fired?"

"Not that I know of."

I nod.

"You shouldn't be working though, you know?"

"I need to money." I say, avoiding his eyes.

"You need to get better."

"And I need a way to pay for the treatment to get me better."

He lets out a breath. "You have money saved up though and I'm sure your boss would allow you to take some time off so you can deal with this."

"I can't." I whisper.

"Why not?"

"Because I am twenty-two and have a fifty percent chance of dying. I don't want to be one of those people that waste away and let their disease become them. I still want to be me. I want to be a twenty-two year old bar tender with a degree in earth and environmental science instead of a cancer patient."

He nods. We don't say anything and we don't have to. Peeta understands my point, it's the same reason he did doctors aboard for so long, he wanted to make something of himself. And that is it; I want to make something of myself. I will continue to work and eat crap food and hang out with my friends and be stupid till I die, I won't give in. I will live my life just the way it is.

A while passes and Peeta begins to play with the tail of my hair. Soon enough I begin to feel my body calm down and grow tired.

Peeta gives me a smile, planting a kiss on my forehead. "You should get some sleep."

And all I can do is nod. The urge to vomit no longer consumes me, but the need to sleep. So, without say I roll to my side, my check resting on his chest and his arm wrapped around me. I embrace his warmth and let the darkness take me.

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


	4. Chapter 4

Four

…

Acceptance

…

The woman with the short, choppy, black hair who's been seated there beside me during my last several treatments looks across from her to the man seated on the other side of me, a man I have never seen before this day.

"Blight," she says, causing the man to lift his head.

He doesn't say anything, but just stares at her, waiting for her to continue.

"Did you hear?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Hear what?"

"Cecelia died last night."

The man, Blight, nods his head. He takes a moment, breathing in a long, deep breath and running his hands over his bread. He seems to grow distant for a moment, off somewhere else, loss in time as if it were. The news is devastating on some level to say the least. The man, Blight must have shared some sort of close relationship with this Cecelia women. It's only a moment that he takes for himself though. Then, he takes another breath before regaining his prior state of stillness and composure.

"Did you know her?" He asks me, turning the attention away from him.

I shake my head. "No."

"She had stage four brain cancer," the woman says.

"Great lady. She was a kindergarten teacher, knew how to make people smile. The best wife a man could have and a mother of two kids." The man, Blight, adds. "Knew how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch like a master chef."

The woman nods, changing the subject like Blight had moments ago as the subject is uneasy for her as well to talk about. "You're new." She states.

"Yeah, I've only been here a handful of times so far."

"Johanna," she states, "Leukemia."

"Blight. Lymphoma."

I nod. "Katniss. Schwannomas."

"Huh," the man grunts.

"Cancer in my back." I tell him at ease. "Like having a pin hammered between your third and fourth lumbar."

Johanna smiles, holding back a laugh. "I like you, back cancer. Welcome to the cancer ward."

…

Running down the pavement doesn't feel right, normal. It wasn't like it was before, graceful and easy as you could say.

As I run now my feet feel heavy and the pavement feels like there are spikes sticking out of it in every direction, piercing my feet each time I take a step. My body feels overheated and my muscles sore. And no doubt, as I expected there is a pain in my back that aches a little more with each step I take.

I continue down the pavement, turning street corners and weaving between people till the timer on my phone begins to beep. An hour has passed and the pedometer I have tells me I have only run eight miles, two less than I usually run. Disappointed I slowly begin to pace myself till I am jogging and then walking and then at a complete stop.

I lift my hands above my head and breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

Breathing, it feels nice, free in a way. And so I stand there for minutes on the street corner not so far from Haymitch's and breathe. I let my hands rest above my head uncaring about the sweat marks under the sleeves of my arms. I just take in the moment and breath.

It's odd.

Nicely odd.

For so long I haven't run, weeks. And now this morning I did. I ran. I ran despite the cancer and the discomfort and the achiness. I ran and I was free.

I was still alive.

Smiling, I let my hands fall from my head, pulling the elastic band from my hair and allowing my finger to brush through my hair in the process. It's only when my hands come in view of my eyes that I see what cover them. Strands of them.

Its then I realize. I recognize what I am. I am alive, but I am dying. It's odd, but I am breathing and that's good. I am alive and I dying all at the same time. It reminds me of what Johanna had told me back at the hospital in a way, about the personal aspect of cancer…

"With cancer jealousy is certainly involved. Its, cancer that's, jealous of life and that's why it's a bitch because it also fears death; that's why people have it for so damn long. I also think it's a little hard to swallow. With its tacky romantic drama and its defender-of-the-helpless act and its overdramatized epic battle, it really gets people going. Only it isn't an act or fight, which makes its more unbearable. It's the fact that we aren't alive yet we aren't dead. We're just there, somewhere in between. It's something we are pleased to feel free to take this personally."

…

"Sweetheart, what do you think you're doing?"

I look at Haymitch's reflection in the mirror in front of me. He stands in the door frame of my bathroom in his usual attire, khakis and a collared shirt. He watches me carefully, like a father in a way. His eyes scan all aspect of me, taking in the scissors on the bathroom counter beside my hairbrush and his electric razor in my hand.

"You can't draw a straight line with a ruler or even trace over an already drawn straight line for that matter. How do you expect to cut your hair?"

I don't say anything. I have nothing to say really. I just stand as I am and continue to process what I am doing, how I am going to do it and what it will mean once it's all over.

"If you're really going to do this, let me. The last thing I need it you chopping off your ear or something and I having to rush you to the hospital."

And I know he is right. My hands shake, even when I am not as nervous as I am in this moment. Give me a sheet of paper with a ruler already aligned straight across it and I still can't draw a straight line. I don't know what to do really, with my luck I would only ever snip my ear. He's right, about the hospital and my clumsiness. I don't know what to do expect hand him the electric razor which he wiling takes.

"What did you plan? Cutting it all or just some?"

I look at myself in the mirror. My hair reaches my mid-waist. It's been like that my entire life. I had always had long hair. I was born with hair. Never once was I bald and I can't imagine myself being so.

"Just some."

He nods.

…

"You cut your hair." Seneca states, leaning back in his chair like a school principal would in his office when overtired and stressed like they do in the movies.

I nod.

"Why?" He says, crossing his right leg of his left and cocking his head to the side.

"The chemo was starting to cause some of my hair to fall out. Not chunks, but just some... strands."

He nods his head slowly. "Why not shave it all off then? I mean, no offense, but isn't your hair still going to fall out, Katniss?"

I nod. "I didn't want to be bald though, not yet."

"So why not keep it long then?" He asks confused. "It was nice that way, not that it doesn't look nice like that, I mean short."

"I wanted to get use to the fact of having less hair. Transition in a way. So, you know, when it's no longer there it isn't as shocking surprise."

He nods. Understanding.

"I didn't come here to talk about my hair."

"I know," he tells me.

"I can't work anymore. I can't risk infection or I am good as dead I keep getting told by the hospital staff. They say some time off would be for the best, even maybe speed up the process and get the damn thing over with all together."

"I know," he tells me again. "I was going to tell you at the end of the week to take some time off, been doing research 'bout it all."

I nod. "This will be my last week."

He nods and the room falls silent. Some time passes and I stand up from across Seneca's desk, turning to the door. It's just as I am about to grab the handle and exit that he speaks up.

"You're position will be waiting for you when you grow your hair back."

And I smile, knowing exactly what his words express.

Hope.

…

"I like the haircut," Annie smiles.

Finn's eye widen, shocked. "I thought we weren't talking about it."

"Talking about what," I ask.

"The elephant in the room." Finn inquires, pointing at my head.

Annie rolls her eyes. "I like the haircut, Katniss. Suits your face well, really brings out your eyes and sharp angle of your cheekbones."

"_Annie_." Finn grits.

"Finn," I say, "I'm right here."

"Annie."

"_Finn_."

"It's just a haircut."

"It's-" He begins, but doesn't get to finish.

"I got a haircut. There's no real, but's. It's just a haircut. You get them, Annie gets them, Peeta gets them, everyone gets them."

"Yeah," he says, "but yours isn't a normal haircut. It's a _cancer _haircut."

"A cancer haircut?"

Annie rolls her eyes again. "Don't listen to him. He's been watching too many Hollywood, cancer movies."

"No," he says in protest. "They're real to an extent. The person gets cancer. They act like everything cool and then bam, they're not. They get chemo and sickly and get haircuts and everything just - just doesn't end well."

Annie frowns a little, shaking her head and giving Finn a soft squeeze.

I didn't know he felt that way; that it wouldn't end well. I know when I first came to tell him he was already filled with statistic of survivors. He knew treatment options, pointing out which ones more successful than others, and what new research sources and techniques foundations have been investing in cancer. He knew what he was talking about; he was worried, but optimistic.

Now he was just worried, concerned and panicky about what was to happen with me. The simplest thing, a haircut, something what would not have sent him over edge before was now just about to cause him a panic attack of worse.

I give him a small smile. "Everything fines, Finn. I promise. You can call my doctor and ask himself yourself. Annie knows him, has his number and Peeta does too. I promise it's just a haircut, a plain old haircut. It's nothing to do with the cancer."

And even though I partially lie, it's true. It had nothing to do with the cancer, it had to do with me accepting what had become of me, cancer and career and relationship and all. It was my acceptance to the new atmosphere around me.

Unwillingly it would seem and unconvinced, Finn nods his head. "Okay."

Annie nods too, quickly changing the subject.

…

Peeta is lying beside me when I come to it. He looks like he had just come from the hospital. His hair is ruffled and his khakis are too. The light blue shirt he wears is one I have seen him wear before under his lab coat.

He gives me a smile. "Haymitch let me in."

I nod, pulling myself closer to him. I rest partially against the headboard, a pillow stuffed under my lower back to match him. Even now as I half lay, half sit in the same manner as him I only come to his shoulder like I do when we stand beside one another.

He watches me watch him.

"Everything okay?"

"You've never kissed me, like properly." I state, speaking the truth. He has kissed me on the cheek and the forehead and short pecks on the lips, but never truly, like a proper, real kiss.

He takes in a breath. "I never - your cancer."

And I know what he means. He fears infection, me catching a cold or a stomach bug and getting even sicker than I already am. Yet… that doesn't seem to be it all, the full reason he had never properly kissed me.

"Peeta."

He looks down for a moment before looking back up at me. "What do I mean to you?"

"What - what do you mean," I ask him confused.

"Am I another Cato or a Finn or a Gale? What title do I hold in your life?"

I open my mouth and then quickly close it. I take a moment before trying again.

"You're not another Cato or Finn or Gale. You're Peeta," I tell him. "I care for you. No, I care a lot about you. I think twice before making a move around you. I like yo- the feeling that when I'm around me I am not being treated like anything other one's, your… better half. You make me smile and I can't seem to hold a grudge against you, even when you poke fun at the way I place napkins on right instead of the left. I care about you more than I have anyone else."

He remains silent for a moment, something that scares me. Then he leans in, close and I feel his hot breath murmur against my lips, trying to find his words.

There are no words.

Feeling his face tilt toward mine, gradually he presses his lips against mine. The kiss begins slow, like a fire, and builds till it has burst into uncontrollable flames.

His lips move against mine, fitting like puzzle pieces. Then, as the friction grows he runs his tongue across my lower lip, parting my lips ever so slightly. His hands find the sides of my face and mine the back of his neck. We hold each other- no, we mold into one another as the kiss continues, never ending in a sense.

I comb my hands through his hair. He, again, runs his tongues across my bottom lip, this time pressing further and allowing his tongue to explore me. I feel myself gasp in surprise, a good kind of surprise.

His tongue explores me and soon enough, without warning I him. They, our tongues, we dance together. My lips smile against his in perfection of how good the kiss feels, how it makes my stomach twist in all the right ways. The kiss was full of grace and passion, rising and falling with each and every move we seem to make.

I don't know how much time passes, but at some point too soon we part. I feel myself trying to catch my breath and I hear Peeta doing the same. Looking from his chest, past his lips, and to his eyes we met each other and smile.

_Oh shit_.

"We should do that more often."

And all I can do is let out a childish laugh in agreement.

…

"Hey." I heard as I climb the steps to my front door.

Looking up, I come face to face with Rory. He reminds me of Gale, he looks so much like him. They could be fraternal twins if no one knew any better. Tall stature, board shoulders, naturally tan skin, and a dark chocolate shade of hair that matches his eyes. Yet, even though he looks like Gale he isn't. They are two completely different people.

"Hey," I smile, continuing up the steps. Then, at the top I unlock the door, opening it. "Want to come inside?"

He nods, following me inside without a word.

I close the door and flick on the light. I step to the kitchen and he follows, again without a word, and takes a seat at the counter.

It's a long time before I speak up. "How is he?"

"Silent." Rory shrugs. "He's kind of closed off. Been working and - and that's about it. No Sunday football or appearance at Vick's basketball games."

I nod. _Being a stubborn shit… just like me._

"How are you?" He asks.

I shrug. "Just chemo anymore really. Had to take off work, couldn't risk infection. So it's chemo and - and hanging out with Peeta or Finn and Annie or Haymitch when I'm up to it."

"Who is this Peeta guy?"

"He's a friend, a - my boyfriend."

Rory raises his eyebrows.

"We just made it official I guess you want to say. He's a nice guy, a doctor. We met through Finn."

"Finn," he questions. "Superstar, bright lights Finnick Odair?"

I nod. "He's Finn's step-brother."

His face transforms into an odd twist of confusion and disbelief.

"He's a good guy, I'm sure you'd like him."

He nods. "If you like him than I do, too."

I smile. Even though his appearance is so similar to Gale's, his personality is not… and I like it like that, I like Rory the way he is.

…

"You can't ditch us, again."

Finn rolls his eyes. "Was it really that bad?"

"No," I tell him, "it was went quiet well, we survived."

"And now youre dating because of it," he adds. "So I don't see how it'll be any big deal if I, Annie and I decided not to make an appearance at this dinner."

"Well, if you ditch this time we, your brother and I, might not be anymore."

"Are threatening me, Everdeen?

"No," I shake my head, "I'm just saying if this goes horribly it could result in a break up and thus you and Annie should be there."

He shakes his head. "You're overreacting."

"No, this is a completely different situation. Completely different. This is dinner with your parents, you and Peeta's parents, the people that raised you two. I need more than Peeta there to keep me from making myself out as a complete idiot. And you know that. You know Peeta won't see when I'm making a complete ass out of myself."

"Katniss-"

"They will judge me and not in the "all she's so adorable" type of way, but the "why is out son dating a girl like her" type of way. And maybe Peeta will realize how I'm way out of his league and this will be all over."

"Katniss-"

"No," I tell him. "You have to be there, with Annie, so when I don't know what to say or do something it isn't just Peeta being himself and not noticing how horrible I am portraying myself. I need you and Annie there to save me, take off the pressure and swoop in when Peeta doesn't realize I am being a complete and utter idiot."

"Katniss-"

"Just promise. Please?"

Again, he rolls his eyes. "I will be there, at dinner with Annie so my parents don't eat you alive. Promise."

…

Cinna stared at me from across the couch and I stared back. It was weird. Staring, being in the same room in a nonmedical situation with my doctor outside the hospital, no less in my friend's house was weird, very weird.

"You know this is weird?"

He smiles, nodding his head in an agreement.

"I mean, how do you know all my friends?"

He smiles again. "Besides working with them?"

"Yeah," I nod, "I mean most people seem to avoid their coworkers outside of work. Then there's you who seems to be the complete opposite. You seem to know everyone on a personal note of sorts, especially people in my life."

"Well…" He drags out. "I know Peeta through Annie. We met during our last year in medical school, Peeta and I. Through Peeta I heard of the infamous, Finnick Odair. Yet, never met him till recently when our lovely Annie began to date the infamous Finnick, landing him at the hospital quite a few times while having a few minutes to myself."

I smile, imagining Cinna and Finn drinking the hospital's semi-crappy coffee as I had done with him more than once. I imagine Cinna and Peeta together as well, cramming for exams instead of going to keggars. And I imagine Cinna and Annie…

"Wait," I say, "How do you know Annie?"

He smiles, "We met each other through some mutual friend I don't really remember. That was before medical school when I thought I was straight. Annie and I dated during that time for a bit."

My jaw just about drops. "When you were straight?"

"Yeah," he says, giving me an odd look.

"What?" My jaw, still half dropped. "You're gay?"

He laughs, coming to a recognition. "You didn't know?"

I shake my head.

He laughs again. "You are a beautiful child, gorgeous."

…

"I'm sorry I don't have any family." I say at random as we sit on the balcony of Peeta's apartment playing a game of Black Jack.

Peeta looks up to me confused. "What?"

"I'm sorry I don't have any family, blood."

He shakes his head a little. "Katniss, that's the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"It's not though," I tell him, "I don't have anyone to introduce you to like you can do with Finn and your parents to me. I-"

He cuts me off. "You have Haymitch."

"He's not-"

"He's your family." He tells me. "He is everything and anything a family, an uncle, a father can be. He's caring and skeptical and loving and watchful and mindful and sarcastic and stern and old and so much more. He loves you like a, maybe even more so, than a family member can or could. Blood or not, he's your family. If he didn't hint at it that he wasn't your uncle I wouldn't have suspected a thing."

"He-" I stop myself, caught off by his words. "He told you that he wasn't my uncle?"

"Not directly," he nods, "but he hinted at it… that you weren't related."

I stare at him confused. I thought he had figured it out on his own at Sunday breakfast a week ago when he mentioned it in the kitchen.

"He told me that your parents and sister had passed a while ago. And I told him I was sorry for his loss to which he told me it wasn't his loss, but singularly your loss as he had no connection to them, you parents and sister."

I stare at him even more confused and baffled than I already was. Haymitch didn't know I had a sister or two parents for that matter. I had never told him anything, offered him any information of the sort. I had only told him that I didn't have anyone and that was why I couldn't have anyone co-sign my lease.

"But if he hadn't told me that I wouldn't have thought-"

This time I cut him off, demanding him, "Did he tell you how?"

Peeta looks to me with a blank stare.

"Did he tell you how my par-" I stutter with my words, trying to say the right thing. "How my family passed?"

He nods, slowly.

"What did he tell you?" I press.

"He said your father was killed in a robbery."

"That was it?" I ask, looking, hoping that was all he knew.

Yet, he shakes his head. "Haymitch told me the taxi driver whose car your father had gotten into at the airport after returning back from home from a medical conference had killed him when he refused to hand over his wallet and Rolex… He said that's why he figured you were skeptical of taxis, because of your father's death."

I purse my lips together, "What about my mother and Pri- my sister?"

"He said that, then - then a week later your mother drove the family station wagon with your sister in the passenger seat into the creek that ran through your town."

As best as I try not to show weakness, the tears stream down my cheeks anyway. My hands quiver at the memory, too, at how crystal clear I could remember the police officers, Cray and Thread, knotting on the front door… twice with the same news.

"He told me it was your sophomore year of high school when you lost them. The papers had covered the entire story, up until the point where you were crowned valedictorian and hopped on the first plane out to LA the day after your graduation."

He pauses, shifting to my side on the bench I sat on.

"He told me he looked into your history a few months after you began living in the house, that he was worried about you."

The tears continue to fall mush to my own protest. Those first few months were difficult. I felt so lost and alone, I just didn't want to be there. I remember Haymitch checking on me daily, how his eyes followed me closely and how he never asked any questions.

"I'm sorry."

He pulls me into hug, my body melting into his as I cry into his neck and grip onto his shirt for dear life. And I let him, allow him to comfort me as he whispers soft words and holds me close, rubbing circles along my spine.

…

"I'm not going to apologize, sweetheart."

I shake my head. I didn't expect him to apologize, that wasn't the reason I came to interrupt poker night. I just wanted to know why.

"How did you find out?" I ask in a small voice, doing my best to suppress my anger.

"Chaff." He tells me. "He asked the man he had that did background checks on the members of his crew to be sure they weren't working for the paparazzi to look you up."

I open my mouth only to quickly close it.

"I was worried about you, sweetheart." He tells me. "You came here and you were just - just off. Sure you ate your vegetables and went to school, but you were off. And I knew, I knew deep down this wasn't how you were. I knew you had a spark inside you, that you were a lively human being.

Hell, I remember researching symptoms and signs of suicidal people late at night sometimes. I even followed you on the bus to UCLA a handle full of times. I was worried you were going to do something dangerous, sweetheart.

And I let it slip one poker night and that's when Chaff brought up the fact that he had a guy that did background checks on his crew. He said the guy was a master at the job, knew how to find stuff out. So I asked him to check you out and the next day he delivered me an envelope with your info stuffed inside."

He pauses, shaking his head.

"I never thought, I never thought that what I found out after reading your file would have ever been there to begin with. I just thought, hoped it would say that was how you always were a little off, that you were a nerd in the submarine club or a cross-country runner maybe.

But that wasn't the case. I mean, you were some freakin' Hallmark movie by the file.

It was good the first few pages and then, then it just went downhill from there. Your father was murder. Your mother committed suicide, taking your sister with her. And then there were the foster homes. The reports of how you were treated by Coin and then Snow."

I cringe at their names, at the memories.

"I never told you what I knew because you didn't need to know. You didn't need any of that coming back and putting you in that slump you were in. So I never told you and when the paparazzi came after you last year I kept it hidden because your life belongs only to you, sweetheart."

I look to him, eyes watery. "Why did you tell Peeta then?"

"Because the boy cares… and he's smarter than the others. He knew something was off before I even hinted at it to him, told him. And I knew you would never tell and by the looks of it he wasn't going to be one of those guys to let you slip away so easily. I figured I tell him, let him know what he was dealing with so when the cancer, if it even does, get rough he knew that you weren't going to quit and that he wasn't going to have the option to bail on you."

I give him a small, watery smile, a mixture between anger and appreciation, before letting my body take over instead of my brain as I flung my arms around his waist and holding on as I had done with Peeta the day prior for dear life.

I could feel him smile against my forehead. "As much as you're a pain I love you, sweetheart."

…

I pick a piece of peperoni off my slice of pizza and drop it into my mouth.

"Big day tomorrow," Marv says, waggling his eyebrows at me.

And like Cato, I roll my eyes. "It's just dinner with the parents."

Marv laughs shaking his head. "It's dinner with _Peeta's_ parents."

Tomorrow was a big day… but so were the last handful of days. From the exposure of my past which I still wasn't completely sure how I felt about, a catch with Rory over lunch where Peeta tagged along, another chemo session where Blight and Johanna sat with me again, and an hour long phone call with Effie about something I wasn't quite sure what she was talking about the last few days had been "big."

I shake my head, ignoring him. And again, like Cato I continue to eat my pizza. I turn my attention back to the television where a documentary called 180⁰ South continues.

At some point through the film, Marv gets up without a word and leaves the room. I don't pay much attention really to it, it wasn't uncommon for Marv to ditch halfway through films, and especially those of not his choosing… expect this time was different. After a few moments had passed following his leave and I couldn't help, but feel Cato's eyes carefully watching me.

I glance over at him, beside me on the couch. "What?"

"Nothing."

I roll my eyes. "What?"

He shrugs. "Just you and Peeta."

"Me and Peeta?"

He nods.

"What about us?"

"I just never thought - you just never seemed-" He pauses, collecting his thoughts. "When I met you, you seemed like me, one to never really get serious. I thought," he laughs a little, "this is after Marv and Finn and I had a few drinks, but I thought that maybe when I hit thirty and you would be mid-twenties I figured I could get you maybe, have you settle down with me and go to the premieres."

I look at him wide-eyed.

He laughs. "Not emotional, idiot." He laughs again. "God no. No. I'm not a Gale or Peeta. I don't do that touchy, feely crap. No. I'd settle down with you for the physical 'cause God know the older I get the less girls there's gonna be lining up down the block to take a run at this." He tells me, gesturing to himself.

I laugh shaking my head. "You're horrible."

He smiles, laughing with me. "Says the girl who's going to make the worse impression on her boyfriend's parents in the history of dinner with the parents."

"Hey," I yell, slapping him in the arm, causing him to just laugh even harder.

…

It was Mr. Mellark, Mrs. Odair-Mellark, and I.

Peeta had gone to drive Finn and Annie back home. Well, Peeta was escorting Finn to drop off Annie at her home. Even with only two beers in his system, Finn considered himself under the influence. And therefore, as the sober one, Peeta was chosen to drive his brother to drop off his brother's girlfriend.

Now it was just Mr. Mellark, Mrs. Odair-Mellark, and I.

Just about a spitting image of what Peeta would look like thirty years from now, Mr. Mellark gave me a smile. "This is awkward isn't it?"

I can't help, but laugh while on the other hand, his wife slaps him in the arm. "Don't make the girl feel already any more uncomfortable than she already is, Warren."

Mr. Mellark rolls his eyes. "It is awkward though, right?"

"Yeah." I smile, nodding my head. "Just a bit."

He smiles again, like Peeta does. "Good, I didn't want to be the only one."

"I'm pretty sure this is Finn's doing," Mrs. Odair-Mellark says.

I laugh a little. "Oh it is. I had to practically beg your son to come tonight, wanted him to be there to make sure I didn't come off as a complete ass."

She snorts, "That's his job."

Mr. Mellark and I laugh, too.

"Isn't that how you and Peeta met?" Mr. Mellark asks. "Dinner with Finn and Annie or something and they never showed?"

I nod. "Yeah, that is how Peeta and I began dating, but I knew him before that. Finn brought him to my work a few times and I ran into him around a town a couple of time, too."

"You're a bar tender," Mrs. Odair-Mellark asks, "with a science and environment degree of some sort, right?"

I nod.

"Do you enjoy it? I always thought of being a bar tender back when I was in college, thought it would have been the best job ever you know, liquor, music and hot frat guys" She smiles, ashamed at her remark a little as she glances at Mr. Mellark in the corner of her eye. "Do you like it though? Are you actually content with yourself?"

Again, I nod.

"Good," she smiles, "Then you're doing it right?"

"You're not disappointed Peeta's doesn't have some fancy lawyer girlfriend?"

She laughs. "This one is a bakery." She points her finger to Mr. Mellark. "As long as my son is happy and you're not some serial killer or just using him I don't care."

Mr. Mellark smiles, adding to the conversation, "In my defense, I bake a fantastic cupcake."

I smiled. I liked Peeta's and Finn's parents. They weren't as scary as I thought they would be nor were they scary at all for the matter. They were kind and sweet and… well, I could list all the good things about them, but sooner more likely than later it would get repetitive and a little annoying. To say it in the simplest terms, they were the perfect parents, maybe a little too perfect, but they were perfect and wonderful people that it would practically be a sin to dislike.

Mrs. Odair-Mellark smiles, leaning into her husband's chest, "It's true."

…

"I'm still sorry."

I smile. "You don't have to apologize, they're great people."

"Great people or not, I left you with my parents."

I snort a little. "You act like they're the devil."

"I know, they're great people, but I did the one thing I promised I wouldn't, leave you with them."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I accept your apology for leaving me alone with your parents even though I am really, super pissed that you did in fact leave me along with them after I practically begged you not to."

He rolls his eyes at my mockery, plopping down on the couch beside me. "Yes."

"Okay," I nod. "Even though I may rather pissed with you, I forgive you for being a complete ass and leaving me alone with your father and mother."

He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. "Thank you."

I smile against his chest, "How much longer are they in town?"

"A few hours," he tells me. "My dad was able to get one of his works to open the bakery, but he has to be back by noon to take over the afternoon shift so they're only going to spend the night and then leave in the morning."

I nod. "I like them… wish they'd stay longer."

"Well," he says talking into my hair, "in two weeks is my father's birthday and if you like, my mom is throwing a surprise party which I plan to attend so, I mean you don't have to, but you can come if you like."

I smile. "I'd like to."

"I'd like that." Peeta smiles too, pausing for a moment. "I'll let my mom know."

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

A friend of mind suggested this and I'm not sure yet how I think about it, but I would like some outside opinion. Would you guys be interested in hearing a Peeta point of view? And, I am not saying I will, just asking how you feel about it.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

…

Bargaining

…

The voice perks up right after the third ring with the liveliness and enthusiasm I remember it having when we talked in person just a week ago. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mr. Mellark," I say through the mouth piece of Haymitch's house phone, "This is Katniss Everdeen, Peeta's girlfriend."

"And this is Warren, Katniss." He corrects me as I can practically hear him smile on the other end, as he done a week ago when I called him Mr. Mellark. "Has my son done something idiotic? Or have you come to the realization that you should be dating a man with much higher and well-rounded qualities?"

I smile, letting out a soft laugh. "No, no. Your son hasn't done anything _too_ idiotic as far as I know… and for the league situation, I don't think it's me who will ever truly be deserving of him."

"You are too modest." He tells me. "But, beside the usual, how are you doing, Katniss?"

"Good," I smile. "No complaints."

"And that back of yours?"

I smile to myself, not for the sake of his kindness and his friendliness, but for my own sake. I smile at his words like I do with Peeta's and Finn's. As how Mr. Mellark, Warren tip-toes around my cancer, not identifying me as cancer itself, but a girl with a pain in her back that just happens to in fact be cancer makes me feel like a person, important even.

"Good, no complaints in that category of my life either," I tell him, "How about you? How are you doing?"

He groans. "I'm getting old."

"Yeah." I play along. "I heard you're hitting the big two, five."

Finn rolls his eyes at me while his father on the other hand laughs.

"I actually called about your birthday?"

"Oh?"

I nod, knowing he can't see me. "Peeta invited me to come up with him to have dinner with you and your wife-"

"Mags." He corrects me.

"Yes, Peeta invited me to come up with him to have dinner with you and Mags. And he told me that he told Mags that he was going to take your shift at the bakery, so you don't have to work on your birthday. And well, I can't cook being honest with you so me mostly hanging around your bakery where I could and possibly would burn down the building down as a result of my horrid incapability to cook-"

Finn shakes his head across the table from me, clapping his hands over his mouth in an attempt to hold back a fit of laughter as well as the piece of cold pizza he had been chewing on.

"So I figured I would ask, with the best intentions of not ending up burning down your bakery, if you would allow me to take you out for lunch instead."

He no doubt shakes his head at my confession. "Is your cooking so bad that it could possibly result in my bakery catching flames and burning to the ground?"

"Yes." I laugh, lightly. "You should call up Finn and ask him about the time I actually burnt water."

He laughs too. "Well, I would gladly go out to lunch with you then - for the sake of my bakery."

"Peeta and I will see you and Mags this upcoming week then?"

"Yes." He agrees. "I'm looking forward to it."

I smile, giving Finn a thumbs up as a say one last goodbye.

…

Looking up from my half eaten taco I ask, "What do you get your boyfriend's father for his birthday?"

Rory lets out a snort as he chews one the piece of taco he had just taken a bite of. "How am I supposed to know?" He asks through a mouthful of chicken taco.

I give him a serious look, telling him this is not the time for his sarcasm and sass.

"What?" He says, taking another bite of his taco, finishing it off. "It's a sensibly, reasonable question to ask. I don't have a boyfriend nor do I have a boyfriend whom I have to buy a birthday gift for."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, smartass. If you _had _a girlfriend let's say by the will of God himself, what would you get your girlfriend's father if it were his birthday?"

He chews for a couple moments before swallowing. "Hmm. Money, maybe." Rory offers only to receive a slap in the arm by Hazel.

"No," she tells us, joining in on our conversation, "Have you not learned anything in your nineteen years of life with me as your mother?" She shakes her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

I smile at Hazel as she shakes her head in disappointment at her son. "What would you get?"

"I would get something meaningful and simple. No gift cards or dollar store cards with a few twenties stuffed inside. I get him something that he can truly appreciate."

I raise my eyebrows. "Like what though? I mean, I barely know the man, not enough to really get him something real meaningful."

"Well," she shrugs, "what is this man like? What do you know about this Peeta's father?"

I look to Rory as somehow without ever meeting Mr. Mellark, Warren he knew the answer. But, after a moment passes my mind seems to have organized a list of things as I rattle off, "He's a baker, happily remarried divorcee, into deep sea fishing, a father of two boys, um…"

Hazel gives me _that_ look, that look that every mother has, but you as the - the person receiving the look can't really describe yet just know exactly without a second thought what she is saying. It is the look that answers all. And by the look she gives me I can't help, but smile as what she silently suggests to me solves my gift dilemma.

"Thank you," I tell her as I stand up from my spot at the table, retrieving my phone from counter along with my bag as I step to the door. "The tacos were great."

Hazel gives me a small smile. "Tell me how it goes."

"I will," I tell her as I take a step out the door, "Thank you."

…

Cinna strides across the cancer ward in his lab coat and leather dress shoes like a badass. He comes right up to the hospital bed where I sit getting pumped with cancer killing drugs of the sort with a plastic, foldup chair in hand.

I'm by myself today, neither Johanna nor Blight nor is the new girl, Rue, in today being pumped with drugs alongside me. He doesn't say anything about my loneliness especially as he knows when Johanna or Blight are out Peeta usually is with me. He, to my liking, doesn't mention it, not a peep. But instead, he continues with his plastic chair, staying quiet as he does not mutter a single word.

He does give me a small smile, though, as he unfolds the plastic chair in front of me and takes a seat, leaning back and elevating his legs across the space between us so they comfortable rest on the edge of the hospital bed.

"Heard you're going to have dinner with Warren this weekend," he tells me.

I nod. "Tomorrow when Peeta and I go up to visit for his birthday I asked him if I could take him out to lunch instead of burning down his bakery."

"Burn down his bakery?" He raises his eyebrows at me in confusion.

"Long story short," I tell him, "I can't cook and so having me hang out at a bakery for a few hours cannot, in my eyes end well, probably ruin Warren's birthday."

Cinna smiles, shaking his head.

"I'm doing the man a favor _and_ buying him a meal."

"Acting as the true lady you are."

I roll my eyes. "You know me, proper as a poodle."

He laughs. "Tell the Warren I say hello, will you?"

"You know Warren, too," I exclaim, a little too loud for my own liking as a few people in the ward turn their heads toward Cinna and I.

He looks to me as if I am idiot.

"Right." I nod. "You know and have met and been in contact with everyone I know."

He lets out a soft breath, shaking his head.

"So beside your stalker-ish obsession with my social life," I say, "why else have you decided to come visit me today in this wonderful world of overbearing, ammonia smelling tile floors and uneasy twisting stomachs?"

He gives me a smile. "Well, after this chemo session you have one more scheduled, correct?"

I nod.

"After that session we are going to run a biopsy."

I raise my eyebrows. "A biopsy?"

"Mhm," he nods. "It's a test really to see how that tumor in your back is doing. By that point, the chemotherapy you have been undergoing should of have done some damage. Hopefully, it has either killed the cancer or has just kept it bay for the time being, maybe has even shrunk it in size."

"What happens if the chemo has killed it?"

"Simple really," he tells me. "You go into remission and hopefully you recover without fault and you end up living happily ever after."

I nod, swallowing. "And what if it's just there, at bay or whatever?"

"Well," he tells me, sliding his feet off the side of the bed so he sits up straight in his foldout chair, "I will recommend you undergo surgery instead of going through another round of chemo. With your type of cancer there is a very successfully rate of having the tumor surgically removed and the patients effectively recovering, never having the cancer appear again in their system."

I nod. "But sometimes, even after surgery, the cancer will reappear?"

"Rarely," he tells me, "but it can occur."

And all I can do is nod.

…

As I sit at my kitchen counter I stare at the brightly lit, blank document before me on the screen of my laptop. I'm not all so sure how I got here, but after my chemo lesson and conversation with Cinna about my options and the possible outcomes I found myself the minute I got home with the idea I should write a will.

A will, it was simple really or at least in my opinion. I didn't own much and the much I owned wasn't really mine.

My apartment would be, of course, returned to Haymitch as well as the pretty substantial liquor and shot glass collection I have above and within my refrigerator.

The football that sat on my bookshelf would go along with the old photographs from college and past summers and the bar in the Converse box I kept in my kitchen would be endowed to Gale.

My "lack of movie collection" as Marv put it one time, but prominently, "absurd" number of old burned playlist on CDs Cato once said would have to go to Finn.

The college textbooks and easy beach readers and other novels and journals that lined my bookshelf would be divided between Vick and Rory.

The toy lamb, Lady, and orange tabby cat, Buttercup, Posy had won me at the arcade two summers ago would be returned to Posy, their rightful owner.

And all the cooking ingredients within my apartment and the cooking utensils and his few items of clothing would be sent back to Peeta.

Peeta… he deserved better than me. Hell, he now knew about my past to add to the entire "on leave bartender cause of her back cancer" ordeal. He deserved better than me. I was holding him back, keeping him from finding a girl that didn't have too many problems and would definitely say yes is he asked her to marry him or have his children.

I could live a hundred live times and never deserve him… and he didn't see it and it made me think, especially after today that maybe, I don't know, but maybe I would, should tell him that.

But… I don't know.

…

"When's the last time you've ate, sweetheart?"

I clench my stomach with my hands. "Two days ago." I mumble.

"Two days," Peeta ask from the front seat. "_Two_?"

I nod, clenching my stomach as it twirled and twisted with mixed emotion.

"What were you thinking, sweetheart?"

_That I didn't want to be vomiting up a bagel and cream cheese during my chemo session yesterday._ I want to tell him, them. _That I figured if I didn't eat the day of my chemotherapy I wouldn't vomit out all my internal organs and more in addition to feeling like shit, even worse than shit as I was being pumped with chemicals and drugs that made me feel like death._

Yet, the words don't come out as I empty what is in my stomach – unsurprisingly nothing - into the brown paper lunch bag between my legs.

"Katniss-" Peeta begins, but I don't let him finish his thought.

"No," I tell him, "We are going up to see your father for his birthday. You told him and your mother we would be there for dinner and I promised your father to take him out to lunch to his place of choice. And if we don't show up, we'll ruin the surprise party Mags has been planning for months now."

He gives me the sad look he gave me when I was… under the weather in the rearview mirror.

I respond with a stern look, gritting through my teeth as my stomach curls again, "I am fine."

He unwilling nods his head as he forces his eyes from the rearview mirror, me and to the road in front of him.

Haymitch shakes his head. "You're a stubborn shit."

I shoot him a death glare.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep, sweetheart? Ease out that stomach of yours."

I nod, stuffing the brown paper bag into a plastic one which I double knot and stuff into another plastic bag in a sad attempt to conceal the smell of its contents before setting it on the floor of the backseat; and then, I lean into Haymitch's shoulder as I allow him to wrap his arm around my shoulder in comfort.

"I don't want you vomiting everywhere and making me look bad," he adds.

…

Warren smiles at Haymitch across the small high table where we sit in a placed called the Hob as he takes another drink of his beer. "So you're the man behind _Schindler's List_, _The Lost Children of Berlin_, _Saving Private Ryan_, _Letters From Iwo Jima_, and _War Horse_?"

Haymitch nods, not in pride or satisfactions, but just to answer his question.

"So you're thee famous movie producer, Haymitch Abernathy? _Schindler's List_, _The Lost Children of Berlin_, _Saving Private Ryan_, _Letters From Iwo Jima_, and the _War Horse_?"

"Not so much War Horse really," Haymitch says as he takes a long drink from his bottle.

Warren raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"I wasn't the hired producer they had set out for the movie," Haymitch tries to exclaim, "I just gave my friend running the thing as the executive producer or whatever mumbo, jumbo title they gave him a few pointer on how to shoot some of the scenes and all."

I roll my eyes, finishing off my whiskey. "They were all him." I confirm.

"Well, I'm a fan to say the least of your work," Warren nods.

"You're a war man," Haymitch states more than ask.

"Not a veteran or anything, just took a number of courses in college about wars throughout history." He nods. "I'm interested in war, history, know a lot about it. Hell, I was a history teacher before taking over the bakery."

"History teacher?"

Warren nods.

Haymitch smirks a little, "Who's the twenty-nineth president?"

"Warren G. Harding." Warren retorts without a second thought.

"Baker and history buff." Haymitch takes another drink, barely nodding his head. "A respectable man you are."

Warren gives something of the same sort in response, continuing on their conversation about the old says and war and all things horrid.

And I, I wave over our waitress and the owner of the joint, ordering myself another whiskey and a plate of nachos for the table in general as I know if I bring Haymitch and Warren back to the Mellark house drunk Mags's surprise party won't carry out as accordingly.

…

Finn pulls me into an unexpected bone crushing hug the moment he finds Peeta and I at Warren's party. He squeezes me even tighter the moment just before letting go.

"How's it going children?"

"So far so good," Peeta smiles, "Didn't expect to see you here."

Finn shrugs. "Well, shooting ended early to my luck and so I took off right from set and drove up here."

"Well," Peeta's smile broadens, "the Undersees and Cartwrights are here and I'm sure they'd love to see you."

Finn lets out a groan and I let out soft laugh, a giggle.

Finn raises his eyebrows, "Is she drunk?" He asks the question concerning me to Peeta.

And all Peeta can do is nod his head. _Yes_.

"Wow." Finn smiles with pleasure and satisfaction. "This is a second."

"A second?"

Finn nods. "The first time I ever seen her drunk, actually drunk was probably about a month after we met. I had introduced her to Cato at a bar-be-que or whatever kind of party Marv had convinced me to throw following the short-lived and pitifully Cashmere phase of my life."

I smile, remembering that party. "Clove and Sparkles were there."

"Glimmer," Finn laughs.

"Bitch either way." I mutter my breath as Peeta shakes his head, smiling no less.

"What happened?" He presses, intrigued.

A vicious like smile creeps across Finn's lips. "She and Cato had a nice test tasting session through a liquor store basically. They went from wine to beer to hard liquor and well, some more hard liquor."

"It wasn't that bad." I tell him defensively as I somehow without moving trip over my own feet to thankfully have Peeta beside me to catch me from making trends with the wooden deck.

Finn laughs. "Says the lightweight bartender."

I stick my tongue out as Peeta loops his arm around my waist.

"She and Cato got themselves into a game of Strip Cards Against humanities… which somehow went from a game of two to seven and quickly resulted in one naked Thresh in my pool within a fifteen minute period." He smiles. "It was quite the show if I say so myself."

And this time as I go to depend myself, taking a step with my finger pointed out in Finn's direction I again trip. Yet, it is this time that Finn catches me instead of Peeta.

He gets me standing me back on my feet before handing me over to Peeta. "Might want to sit her down for a few minutes, get some water or coffee or something into her system."

…

"Thank you for the gift," Warren tells me as he sides down on the empty bench seat beside me.

I nod my head. After Hazel's advice I went over to Annie, remember she was there when Peeta's flight had landed as there was some confusion between who was supposed to be picking him up. And to my luck, well not really knowing the person was, she had a picture of the two brothers together outside the terminal with their arms looped around each other's shoulders and bug, toothy smiles plastered across their lips on her phone. She willingly sent me the photo which I ended up, blowing up and framing for Warren as Hazel's words "get him something that he can truly appreciate" rung through my head at the thought of it as Warren's son were something I knew he truly appreciated having in his life.

"How are you," Warren asks.

I shrug. "A little drunk."

He smiles. "Besides a little drunk, how are you doing?"

"Fine."

He smiles like Finn does when he knows I'm protecting him from the truth, protecting myself from the truth. It's a surprise to me that Warren is not Finn's biological father. If I hadn't told me otherwise, I wouldn't have thought otherwise.

"I know I haven't known you for that long, but from what I witnessed and heard and been informed of, by Finn and Peeta and Haymitch and all, I know that's far from the truth."

I don't say anything, but continue to stare into the space in front of me as I had been doing prior to his appearance.

"You know it's okay not to be okay." He tells me.

I shake my head. "But it really isn't."

He makes a grunt of sorts that causes me to look to him in curiosity only to see him looking back to me in confusion.

"Not to be a pessimist or anything here, but it really isn't okay to not be okay. My mother wasn't okay and she killed herself and my sister. Haymitch wasn't okay and got kicked out of the business for it. Not okay is not worth it. People need you to be okay to stay afloat, not not okay. Okay is what keeps the world spinning around."

He smiles a little, letting out a soft laugh. "That's a shitty point of view."

I shrug my shoulders. "It's real."

"It's still shitty."

I smile. "Well when you get cancer, have your best friend abandon you, and your boyfriend is too good to be you're boyfriend you get a realistic point of view."

He takes a drink from his beer. "You are not the fun, party, stripping drunk Finn is telling the entire party you are."

"I'm half sober at this point," I tell him, "But, get a few glasses of whiskey in me and I'm sure I'll start a game of strip poker or something… though I'm not sure if your wife would approve of that."

He laughs, shaking his head. "She'd probably join in, that woman is practically just a female version of Finn, maybe even worse at times."

I laugh too, clinking my glass of water against his beer bottle in agreement.

…

When I come to it, I am laying on top of Peeta's chest. He isn't wearing the collar blue shirt from last night nor his khakis, but just his boxers instead. His blond curls are ruffled and scattered across his forehead. And his face, even with that prominent, angular jaw of his, he has a sort of baby face kind of look to it when he sleeps.

I can't help, but smile.

Yet after a short moment, the realization that I have to go to the bathroom, _now_, hits me. And so moving swiftly, but silently I slip out from under his arm around my waist and shit my weight out of the bed. For a moment I think I may have woken him, but to my relief he mutters some illogical nonsense before rolling over on to his stomach.

Smiling one last time I sneak into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later I exit in one of Peeta's long flannel shirts he had left over the week prior. And Peeta, he is still passed face down in my bed that I can't help, but smile.

After a short moment though, I shake my head and make my way to the kitchen.

Finn stops me though. Sprawled out on my couch in nothing more than his jeans with his hands knit behind his head as if he were casually swaying back and forth on a hammock, he has a cocky-ass smile plastered across his lips when his eyes fall upon me on entrance.

"How's it going, baby?"

I roll my eyes, "Beside the headache expanding beyond belief within the matter of my skull, just fine."

"Well, breakfast is in the oven," he tells me, "Cinnamon rolls."

I nod my head in thanks as I stride into the kitchen, picking one of the many cinnamon rolls within the oven onto a plate and pouring myself a glass of water before taking a seat at the counter. And two bites in, Finn appears across from me with a less haughty smile sprawled across his lips.

"I got to ask you something?"

I look at him to continue.

"I talked to my dad last night, before we left."

I nod.

"He told me some of the things you said."

I raise my eyebrows.

"About having to be okay and your mother and your best friend who I assume you were referring to Gale and not being good enough for Peeta and your sister and something along the lines of doing what you should or facing reality or something."

I don't say anything.

"Was what he said about your mother and sister true?"

I look down at the glass of water in my hand, how I vortex stirs within as I move the base of the glass in my hand around in a circle. "What, that she lost it after my father's murder and killed herself along with my sister? Yeah."

He nods, sadly. "And Gale?"

"We haven't talked in weeks." I tell him, still focusing on the vortex. "His brother updates me about what's going on in his life anymore."

"Peeta?"

I shake my head. "Let's not talk about that."

"No," he says. "We need to talk about that. You can't back way now, especially from _that_. He's my brother. I need to know what he's up against. I have the right to know if you are considering ending the best thing that has ever happened to him."

I snort. "What? Me?"

"Yes, you." He tells me. "He would probably be back down in Honduras or Ecuador or some country down in South America or maybe even overseas in Africa if he hadn't met you. He wouldn't have stuck around long enough for me to be able to share some quality time with him or to be around for our father's birthday or even to have dinner with our parents for the matter."

"He would be have-"

He cuts me off. "No, he wouldn't."

I shake my head, knowing he is wrong. "Let's not talk about this."

"Talk about what," I hear Peeta's voice ask from across the room.

I muster up a smile from deep within me before looking up at him. "About how much Finn's cooking sucks compared to yours."

…

Running my hands through his hair, I pulled his lips closer to mine.

How we fit so closely together like puzzle pieces or molds or tiles in a mosaic or clay or links in a chain, it scares me, makes it hard for me to decide and differentiate between what is right and what I should do and what I should do.

As my hands comb through his hair and down his neck, Peeta's hands gild down my ribs, making sure to rake over each and every one of my bones until they settle on my hips. And then, unexpectedly he grips them tight the moment before flipping us over so I lay flat against the bed's cotton comforter.

We don't stop nor do we pull apart. Instead, Peeta swoops his tongue along my bottom lip, causing me to gasp in surprise and him to smile at his proudly won achievement.

It's as my hands travel down his shoulders to his chest, he again smiles against my lips like he up to something or has a secret he can't share. And like before, he tightens his on my waist the moment before shifting my body, jolting it up against the bed so were aligned.

Yet, the moment he shifts, jolts my body up, a pain runs through my spine and my eyes squint tight and my teeth grit as a mutter, "Fuck," and not a good 'fuck' for that matter.

It's with that that the moment is over, done, no more.

Peeta pulls away, extracting his hands away from my skin and lifting his body so it no longer hovers above mine. He practically disconnects himself from me and this is the reason, the reason I am no good for him.

I shouldn't have to be someone he tip toes around or has to worry about hurting. I shouldn't be one to stop him from expressing himself or enjoying the things people together willingly share with one another. I shouldn't have to make things an inconvenience for him, I shouldn't be an inconvenience.

He looks to me with sad eyes, pitiful eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nod, "Just a kink in my back." I tell him, trying to play it off as if it is nothing really.

But, he shakes his head. "Let's just take a break."

I don't respond because I know he won't like my choice of words nor will he like what I have to say and I know what he'll say in response.

So we fall silent.

He leaves after a bit and changes into a pair of sweatpants and I do the same, choosing one of Peeta's Santa Barba High School soccer jerseys instead of sweatpants. Then, changed and teeth brushed, we find ourselves back in his bed.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this," I tell him after a few moments.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have to deal with this, me, my cancer, my past."

He rolls over, looping his arms around my waist. "Don't say that."

"It's true though," I tell him, "You know it is."

He shakes his head. "True or not, I don't care, I chose, am choosing to be with you and your cancer and you past."

"Well…" I shake my head, burying it into the pillow. "It's a stupid choice."

He smiles against my neck, giving it a soft kiss. "They always said that lo- I never said I was a smart person."

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


	6. Chapter 6

Six

…

Unwillingly

…

The Arena is dead when I walk through the door. Beside it being one in the afternoon and still officially closed, I wasn't surprised, even when the place was open it never got busy till near eight and that was five hours after opening. I was even less surprised when I see Gale alone, by himself without Thom helping behind the bar slicing limes and lemons no less.

He doesn't realize I'm in the room till I'm seated across from him. He doesn't say anything either and so I take the chance and do so.

"Not going to offer me a drink?"

"Didn't think you should be consuming that stuff, considering the tumor and all."

I laugh a little. "Makes no difference to me, the tumor and all."

"Whiskey," he offers.

I nod.

He sets down his knife and swipes the limes and lemons he has cut into their designated containers before reaching for a bottle of Jack Daniels. With his other hand he grabs a glass from under the counter and pours a little more than he should into the glass. Yet, when he pushes the glass across the counter toward me I don't oblige.

It's after he sets the bottle back behind the counter where he had taken it from that he speaks first. "When Rory said you got your hair cut short I assumed he meant down to your shoulders, not something between a crew cup and a bowl cut."

I smile, combing my fingers through my hair. "You like it?"

"It suits you as much as that braid of yours did," he tells me with a thin smile.

I nod. "Thanks, Haymitch did it himself."

He laughs to himself, nodding. "Ex-movie producer and hairdresser?"

"He's expanding his horizons," I tell him.

He smiles, nodding and then the air falls still. I don't drink from my glass and Gale doesn't pick up the knife and reassume cutting the lemons and limes laid out across the counter in front of him.

"Our friendship is pretty messed up." He states.

I nod in agreement.

"Hell, the only way I've been staying sane has been through updates about your life that I have been able to gather in little bits and pieces though little, short-lives conversations with my little brother."

I give him a sad smile. "I've been doing the same thing, finding about your happenings through Rory."

He lets out a groan, running his hands over his face. "What even happened between us?"

"Cancer and secret emotions." I say bluntly.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, "about both those things, the cancer and the secret emotions."

I smile. Gale, Gale Jacob Hawthorne apologizing was a once in a life happening. It was something that should be written down in the history textbooks that's how uncalled for and unheard of it is.

"I am, too." I tell him honestly. "I should have told you about the cancer, you had the right to know and I shouldn't have showed up at your doorstep that night, I shouldn't have handled the situation I did."

He nods. "I still feel that way about you."

I look down at my glass, abashed. "And I still don't know how I feel about that, love and marriage and kids."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "What about this Peeta guy Rory has mentioned?"

"Curious much," I tease.

"Catnip."

I nod. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing or we're doing, I don't know what we are. I think we're in a relationship. I've met his parents and we've been on numerous, numerous dates and we practically spend all our free time together, but I don't know what we're doing, if it's an actual relationship or if I'm even doing it right for the matter. And plus, I mean, he's a pediatric doctor for the hospital where I get my chemo done and I'm a cancerous bartender with an unused college degree. He deserves so much more than I can offer when it comes down to it and that's why I guess it makes it so difficult for me to understand whether or not what we have is a relationship or not."

"He'd be stupid to not be deserving of you."

"And I'd be stupid think I'm deserving of him."

He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes.

"I have something I wasn't going to tell you, that I should have told you a long time ago, earlier on when we first met and became friends and all."

He looks to me confused. "What is it?"

"It's um - it's about my past."

…

Cinna motions me to sit as he circles around his desk and takes a seat. It's as he settle himself in his chair that he gives me a sad smile from across this desk. It's a sad sort of smile that I know what he is saying without the use of words.

"It's still there isn't it? The cancer?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, it's still there." He tells me, knitting his hands across his lap. "But luckily, the chemo has kept the cancer at bay so it had not spread any further throughout your body, yet has remained in between your third and fourth lumbar. In addition, by the test it seems that the chemo has shrunk your tumor by the tiniest bit."

"It's still there though, right?" I confirm.

He nods. "Yes."

I nod too. "So then, the next step is to undergo surgery where you or some other doctor will cut into my back and remove the tumor."

"Yes." He tells me. "It's practically a minor surgery that can be easily carried out with any complications or issues."

"And then we cross our fingers and hope for the best really, hope it doesn't come back?"

"Yes." He adds, "You may have to go on medications following your surgery to help the process along, but in your terms exactly, when it comes down to it, 'we cross our fingers and hope for the best really.'"

I nod, sitting up straight in my chair. "Let's plan this surgery then."

He smiles a little at my persistence, "Okay."

…

Finn is waiting on Haymitch's front porch after I turn the block from my five mile loop around the neighborhood. He stands up immediately, making his way across the porch and down the steps into the driveway at the sight of me.

"You know you're worrying him like crazy?" He tells.

I shake my head, continuing to the side of the house to take the stairs up to my apartment, but Finn's hand catches my bicep, pulling me back and resisting me from doing so.

"It's been nearly a week since he's heard from you," he informs me as if I hadn't known myself.

I grit my teeth. "I've been busy." I say half truthfully.

He snorts to himself, shaking his head. "You've been avoiding him," he tells me bluntly.

I slip up on my truths, telling him, "I've been trying to figure out what's right."

"What's _right_?" He snorts. "Is that for you? Him? Both of you? Or no one at all?"

"Both of us," I spit.

He nods, mockingly. "And what's right, for both of you?"

I look down at my shoes. "Don't make me say it."

"Oh," he says, taking a step forward, "Is that because you don't know what is best or you can't come to terms with what you think is 'best' for the two of you."

"It's because I can't come to terms with what's best," I spit, "Because as much I know what's right doesn't mean it doesn't sucks, it just means it's better for all of us. It means that Peeta's better off without me, a cancerous bartender with an unused college degree. He can do much better, find a girl that wants to settle down and pop out a few."

"Just because he's a twenty-seven doctor, a prodigy child that just about began college when must were starting high school, doesn't mean you're not good enough to make a life him with your cancer and unused college degrees."

"No," I tell him, "Because he's a twenty-seven year old romantic, with a great jobs and looks included, dating me, a twenty-two year old bartender with, for the most part, detesting views about marriage and love and children makes me not good enough for him."

"Katniss-"

Yet, I cut him off. "I am emotionally damaged dating an emotionally pristine man that's too good for his own good between practically doing his residency through doctors aboard, helping those who need it most, working with children here in LA like the freakin' saint he is, and dealing with me and all my - my life issues. _And_, for him to want a wife and kids and to be dating me, a person that has no blood family and a track record of horrid foster families does him no benefit as I can't say for sure where I stand upon the matter and in the end would just most likely drag him along."

"You don't see the big picture do you?"

"Yes, I do." I tell him firmly. "I see that something isn't right, that I'm not good for him."

"You can be real stupid sometimes, Katniss." He rolls his eyes. "Stop being like him. I mean hell, I know he's had some sort of effect on you, but this is not the time to show it, it's not the time to act all high and might and righteous and good. This is not the time to be Peeta and act like he does."

"I'm not acting like Peeta," I grit.

"Oh no," he says sarcastically, "just acting like a selfless being…" His voice trails on as he comes to a realization. "Shit, Katniss, this is not the time to be you either."

I roll my eyes. "That's easy for you to say, being an actor and all."

He shakes his head. "That's a blow, Katniss, even for you."

…

Rolling over, I look to my bedside table and reach for my phone. Swiping my finger across the screen, its light just about illuminates my dark room. And there, dead certain in the middle of the screen it no less than a notification that reveals Peeta's most recent message.

Taking a deep breath, I tap the screen a few times before the message begins to play.

"_Hey Katniss, it's me again… Peeta. Finn said he saw you today, said you were a little under the weather_."

He takes a deep breath.

"_I know how you get when you're not feeling your best, and how you really don't like people around to watch over anything or having people around in fear you'll get them sick, so I promise that I will try to not come by for the next few days or so."_

He pauses.

"_I know you don't really like to talk about it, your cancer, but I'm sorry for the other night. I shouldn't have acted the way I had. It wasn't right of me and there's no reason or defense to excuse me of my actions, and I'm - I'm sorry_."

He lets out a soft breath.

"_I hope you get better. Call me if you need anything or- just call me if you feel up to it. You can always call me. I lov- Bye_."

The message goes dead and the light on my phones shuts down at some point and I am left curled on my bed, twisted up in the covers, clutching my phone to my chest.

…

Annie gives me a sad look across the table. "You doing okay?"

I nod.

"Those dark circles under your eyes beg to differ."

I smile a little. "Been pulling all-nighters."

"Watching the entire _Breaking Bad_ series?" She ask, but before I can nod my head yes, she cuts me off. "Don't nod your head or tell me yes because I know you finished it weeks ago. And, I know you have finished watching all recent _Plant Earth_ as well as have rewatched each recording of _Shark Week_."

She looks to me to speak, but I don't.

"I don't know what's going on with you, but Finn has been walking around pissed for the past few days, not saying a single word and Peeta has been forcing,_ forcing_ himself to smile."

She shakes her head.

"I know whatever's going on with the two is stemming from you and-"

I cut her off. "Yes."

"Yes?"

I nod. "I'm the one causing all the problems."

"What's going on?"

I look around the café before looking to her with an answer. "I'm making some life changing choices, I suppose you'd like to call them, that are kind of getting to me."

"They're not just getting to you," she tells me, "They're overtaking you. I've seen it before."

I raise my eyebrows in confusion.

"I'm assuming neither Peeta nor Finn or even Cinna have ever told you about my past."

I shake my head.

"I was engaged during my final year of medical school." She tells me. "Boggs, he was my boyfriend of two years. We were from the same town, grew up together, but really never talked till one summer when we were both in college. We became close, worked at his seafood restaurant together during the summer. It wasn't till after Cinna and I had gone out that he asked me out."

She pauses.

"We dated for two years and then, at the end of my final year in med school he proposed and I said yes. Boggs was a cop and it was a few months into my residency that I was working in the emergency room for the day and he rolled in on one of the gurneys. He had pulled a guy over for speeding not a half an hour earlier… and the guy thought he was going to arrest him for the ten bags of weed in his trunk and so took matters into his own hands."

He takes a breath, wriggling her nose as if she was trying to hold herself back from crying.

"He was shot three times, two were to the chest and one was to the shoulder. He died from blood lost. Died, right there in front of me in the emergency room. I was the one that pronounced him dead. It sucked, not being able to do your job as a doctor, especially when it comes to saving the life of your fiancé. Yet, I couldn't do anything to save him. I held it together pretty okay. Called his family and told them what happened, I took care of him."

She looks it up at me.

"I lost it that night, broke down right there in his room after his parents had left crying. A nurse found me and I was sent home, the hospital gave me so long to mourn my lost. I was broken though. I pushed people away, kept to myself and only went out when I truly had to. I didn't know what was going on with my life and I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But, there's always a but, I got better, began talking to a doctor and soon enough got the closest back to me as I am."

She gives me a small smile.

"You got that broken and far-out look I had, when I didn't know what was going on in my life and I didn't know what to do. And I'm not telling you to fix it right now, like just instantly decide how you should deal with these life changings choices, but I think it'd help if you talked to someone maybe, it helped me."

I give her a small smile. "Thanks Annie."

She smiles, too. "And don't worry about Finn and Peeta. Finn will come around and Peeta will be back to him in no time, they'll understand."

…

"Katniss," Effie's high pitched voice sounds through the phone, "How are you?"

"Good morning to you, too," I tell her. "I'm doing fine, how are you?"

"Busy, busy, busy as always." She signs. "That Finnick of ours keeps me on my toes."

I smile at the remark even though she can't see me. "He does."

"Well, getting straight to the point deer, I have a question for you."

"I'm not going into the acting or modeling or singing or anything related to or possibly connected with Hollywood, Effie."

I imagine her shaking her head with her lips pursued as she says, "As much as I would love to persuade you to sign me as your agent, Katniss, especially as Finn and I are in agreement you would make out like a bandit with money and jewels and anything you could ever want. Yet, that is not why I am calling."

"Mhm?"

"There's a gallery premiere going on this upcoming Friday night." She explains. "It's a client's of mine and he gave me a several tickets to hand out to people I know who might be interested and Haymitch mentioned the other week that you took a few art history course in coll-"

Yet, before she can finish I cut her off. "Haymitch?"

"Yes, dear, we had lunch." She doesn't indulge upon the topic any further as she goes back to reason why she called. "Anyway, I was wondering if you would like a ticket?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Effie, but I have plans that Saturday that I have to have a good night sleep for."

"Okay, dear, I understand."

…

"Haven't seen you in a while, sweetheart." Haymitch remarks, taking a drink form the grasped in the palm of his hand.

"Yeah," I shrug as I plop myself down on the front porch bench beside him. "Had, have stuff going on."

He looks to the half-filled glass of gin before looking back to me. "I know I'm going to regret this, but do you want to talk about it."

My eyebrows shoot up in shock. "You want to talk?" _This was a first, _I want to say_, this was even more surprising than Gale Jacob Hawthorne apologizing_.

"No." He corrects me. "I volunteered to drunkenly listen to you talk about all you're more than wonderfully uninteresting life chaos. Which, simply means I am offering for you babble away, dishing your heart and soul out while I enjoy myself a nice drink, not registering a single word you say."

"Mhm," I smirk.

He shakes his head. "This is not the time to be a smartass, sweetheart," he warns me.

"So how long have you've been seeing Effie?"

"That's not talking," he informs me, "That's questioning."

"So how long have you've been seeing Effie?" I repeat.

"Why do you care," he challenges me.

And for a third time I ask, "So how long have you've been seeing Effie?"

He lets out a grunt, taking a drink from his glass. "Ah, couple months."

"What?" This was uncalled for. A couple months? Haymitch and Effie in the same room, they were patricianly a catastrophe, but a couple months? Hell, it was a surprise the world hadn't ended or the apocalypses hadn't begun. "What do you mean? You've been seeing Effie for a couple months?"

"It's simple," sweetheart," he tells me; "I have been seeing Effie for a couple months."

"How come I was not aware of this?"

"You ain't my mother, sweetheart, I don't have to tell you everything or anything for that matter that occurs in my life… and you've lost your edge especially this last week, she walked right by your window on Tuesday, high heels and all."

"But this is _Effie_."

He rolls his eyes. "She just another woman, no need to make a scene."

"Definitely in reason to make a scene," I concur. "She's you're complete opposite."

He smiles. "Ain't that bad."

"Obviously," I grunt, slumping a bit back into my seat.

He laughs. "Just 'cause I'm having a pretty good time with a pretty woman that you happen to know doesn't mean you got to go and throw a fit or whatever this is." He pauses, looking me up and down. "What's wrong, sweetheart, blondie do something stupid or was it his idiot brother?"

I don't respond.

"Oh, so it was both of them."

Again, I don't respond.

"And you did something, too."

"This isn't drunk listening," I tell him, "This is questioning, a lot of questioning, and snooping, too."

He smiles. "Life's a bitch."

I let out a groan. "I wish it wasn't."

"Don't we all," he snorts.

There's a pause. I don't say a word nor make a move and Haymitch remains seated on the other end of the bench, cautiously drinking from his glass.

"What's going on, sweetheart? What's really bothering you?"

…

"Where's Peter?"

"Busy."

Brutus grunts from behind the counter, puffing out his chest and looking down at me. "We were always a horrible liar, Katniss. It was no wonder Plutarch Heavensbee never believed you when you said he was on his side."

I roll my eyes. "The guy was hiding something."

"He was helping me planned a surprise birthday party for you."

I smile, slightly. "It was a real surprise."

He pours himself a drink, "I was not aware I had sent you the message about the happenings of the party."

"I was."

He throws back his drink before cleaning out the glass. Then, opening out his mouth some sort of clatter comes from back in the kitchen causing him to excuse himself briefly only to return with my order of wings.

"So where's Peter?" He asks again as he sets the plate of wings in front of me.

I pick one of the wings, taking a bite before telling him what I had told him minutes ago. "Busy."

He steals a wing from my plate. "Can't lie to yourself forever."

"Who says I'm lying?"

"We dated over a year Katniss," he tells me, "When I told you I loved you, you fumbled to spit the words back. It was a nice gesture an all, but it was an empty one. You couldn't trick me, maybe others, but I knew it was a lie as much as I wished it wasn't."

He pauses, finishing the wing and tossing the bone in a trashcan behind the counter.

"You can fool some people, but not all. You'll have to try harder if you want to convince yourself Peter's busy."

With that he walks away, back into the kitchen and I whisper to myself, "His names Peeta."

…

Hazel smiles as Rory dives for the ball Posy had just spiked over the net.

Sadly, Rory misses and in return Posy screams with joy while Gale smiles, giving his sister a pat on the back for a job well done. On the other side of the volleyball court, Vick mutters something under his breath, shaking his head and Rory pulls himself up and out of the sand, doing his best to dust it off his chest and arms.

She turns her attention away from her children and too me. "So you and Gale are talking again?"

I nod.

"Good," she smiles, "I was worrying that you two may never talk again. You're both too stubborn for your own good."

I laugh. "It's a wonder we've stayed friends for so long."

"You'll be friends for much longer I believe." She pauses, glancing out to her children as they start another game of volleyball. "As stubborn as you both are, you're too stubborn for your own good to let each other slip out of each other's lives."

"You're probably right."

"I am." She tells me. "I'm a mother; I know these kinds of things."

I nod.

"I'm glad. You're both seemed to be back to normal. Rory told me you two went had breakfast with Haymitch and then went on to play football this past Sunday."

"I didn't play that much."

"But you two still did you're thing." I nod and she continues. "And today was a great idea, really. I think we all needed a little get away. Especially with the kids getting back to school real soon and well, with you and you're upcoming surgery I think it was a good idea. A little sun and sand in your sandwich can go a long way."

I smile. "Did Vick drop the lunch bag?"

"He always does." She smiles, reminiscing for the moment, think back to our past beach days. "I don't understand why we let him carry the bag each time we decided to come to the beach."

"If we didn't, we wouldn't have sand incorporated, adding that extra zest to our sandwiches.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, because I love a ham, cheese, and sand sandwich."

I laugh.

"At least the chips survived the impact."

"Thank God for airtight, packaging bags."

She smiles and we fall silent. We watch the volleyball game before us. Gale serve the ball and Vick diving to pop it far enough into the air for Rory to hit it back over the net to Posy who sets the ball up for Gale can spike it back over the net.

"How is that boy of yours?" She ask out of the silence.

I shrug my shoulders.

"He came around asking about you. Haymitch gave him our address."

"What did he want?"

"The basics," she tells me, "To see if you are okay."

"And what did you tell him," I ask, still watching the game.

She lets out a soft breathe. "The truth."

"Which is?"

"You're somewhere in between good and bad."

I turn my attention back to her, puzzled. "Moments ago you told me I was practically back to normal."

"With Gale you are," she nods, "But you're still a little silent, closed off. Anyone could tell you're keeping something inside, deep inside that you either lying to yourself about or just not letting you come to the realization of."

"It's not that simple."

She smiles, resting her hand on my shoulder. "Its life, hun, nothing is ever that simple it just whether or not you allow yourself to go about it in a simple manner."

…

I sit crossed leg on my bed, my email open on my laptop. It had been an hour since I had sat down and opened my laptop. Yet, after an hour I still didn't know what to say or even where to start.

Words weren't my strong point. Words were something that belonged to Peeta and Hazel and Finn and Annie and Gale and Haymitch and anyone that wasn't me. Words were something of foreign nature to me. None of them ever seemed to neither make sense nor fit together. Words were like not a form of expression yet humiliation. With them I stuttered and paused and murmured.

Letting out a sigh, I shake my head. This wasn't going to work.

Shaking my head, disappointed in and ashamed of myself, I exit out of my email and shut down my laptop. Then, throwing my legs over the side of my bed, I make my way out the room and to the kitchen. I pull open the refrigerator, reaching for the carton of orange juice. It's then I see the half eaten loaf of raisin bread Peeta had brought over one day sometime over a week ago.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I grab the carton and close the door. I pour myself the remainder of the orange and make my way back to my bed.

I try not to think about it, but the thing was the raisin bread wasn't the only thing of Peeta's laying around my apartment. There were a few of his shirts hung in my closet, two of his medical magazines sitting on the coffee table, and more so much more. And that was the thing, Peeta was everywhere.

…

I sit on the bed beside Blight. Unlike the rest of them, I am not hooked up to tubes and wires and being pumped with cancer killing drugs.

"So, what are," Johanna ask, "too good for us?"

I roll my eyes and Rue softly hits her in the arm from her seat beside Johanna. "Shut up."

Johanna grunts at the younger and newfound member of our group.

Rue smiles, turning to Blight. "Your breads getting thick."

He shrugs.

That was one thing I picked up about Blight. He wasn't much of a talker and whenever he couldn't he didn't verbal respond or turned the conversation away from him toward someone else and or a different topic that could not be connected to him.

"I like it like that," Johanna smiles.

Rue snorts, "You like a lot more about Blight than just that."

Johanna shrugs his shoulders. "I won't say I don't."

Rue again snorts and Blight looks down at his hands, embarrassed.

As much as Blight may have thought me didn't know, he was wrong. We knew there was a thing between Johanna and Blight. Johanna being the blunt person she was made it very easy to figure out. It was cute one might say, their relationship, but in my opinion it was just ironic, two cancer patients dating. There were practically two radioactive beings colliding, but then again they were just Johanna and Blight.

Shaking his head, Blight glances up at me. "So you're actually getting sliced?"

I nod.

Johanna smiles, "When's the big day?"

"Soon."

"Oh, come on Katniss," Johanna pushes, "a little more details."

"Let her be." Rue tells me.

Johanna rolls her eyes. "Oh shut it pee wee."

"I'm nearly your height."

"Yet you're not."

Rue gives her a glare, "I'm still growing, I'm going to be taller than you."

Johanna lets out a laugh and their little dispute goes on, back and forth never ending. It was always like this; at least most times me had treatment together. Johanna would tease Rue and they'd go back and forth. It was something I was going to miss if the surgery was successful.

Blight nudges me with his elbow. "You scared for Friday?"

And I shrug, not knowing how I felt about the situation.

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

…

Confrontation

…

"Well, very happy birthday to you," he tells me, glancing over the clipboard, _my_ clipboard laid out on the small, metal table placed at the front of the operating table on which I lay.

I roll my eyes at Cinna's remark.

He wangles his eyebrows at me. "Twenty-three."

Again, I roll my eyes.

"So what are your plans for the day? Going out for drinks? Shopping with the girls, maybe? Wild house party? Day spend on the couch? Catching up on all those series you got saved up on Netflex? Dinner out with friends? Oh, something illegal?"

For a third time a roll my eyes. "I got with hot date in the OR with this sharp young fellow."

Cinna laughs. "Sounds exciting."

"Been looking forward to it all year," I deadpan.

"Hey," he tells me with a light laugh, "Just think, soon enough that damn tumor will be out of your back and you can go back to running without a care in the world and serving some horrible drink that neither you or I would ever drink without that voice in the back of your head repeatedly wondering if whether or not you will be in extreme pain."

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip.

He gives me a hopeful smile. "You'll be fine, Katniss."

Then everything seems to quicken. I am connected to tubes and wires, monitors and bags. They are checking my heart rate and blood pressure. They are setting up last minute supplies in the room. Its then, as they ask me to rollover onto my stomach I feel a sense of panic. It doesn't stop building, the panic, it builds and builds especially as two more people in scrubs enters. It worsens as I feel the back of my hospital gown being undone and a cold substance cleansing it.

"Cinna?" I call out, trying to keep clam.

A hand rest on my shoulder, his hand. "Yeah?"

I take a deep breath, opening my mouth, but nothing comes out. My mouth is dry, as if it is filled with cotton balls and my throat is feels like a dried up river. Letting out an uneasy breath, I cough before telling him in a soft whisper, "As much as I am afraid of the cancer coming back, I'm afraid it'll be gone for good."

I can practically hear him smile as he repeats himself, "You'll be fine, Katniss."

Then, a couple stray and unwanted tears slowly begin to seep out of the corners of my eyes. "But what if I'm not, what if I'm not fine?"

"You will be." He crouches down so he his face is eye level with mine. "I promise, you will be. I'm betting on you."

…

It's dark, dark dark, that kind of dark that scares you as a child. There is no light yet at the same time there is. It's confusing and complex and all so welcoming, intriguing as is pulls me in.

And, I allow it.

I allow the darkness to pull me in. It pulls me down to its bottom, where light and dark clash with one another, creating an oddly beautiful mixture of colors.

And, it's not just colors.

There is more, the colors swirl into shapes and objects. There's my father and mother and sister. There's Snow and Coin. There's Haymitch and Gale and Finn. There's Thom and Annie and Cato. There's… Peeta.

…

My head hurts, my stomach is uneasy, and there is a slight pain in my lower back. For a moment I forget about what had occurred hours earlier, the pain makes me forget. I forget about Cinna, about the nurses in scrubs, about the surgery. Yet, when I try to roll over onto my side, I remember. My body, connected to tubes and wires, entangling me, reminds me of where I am and why.

Feeling my stomach lurch, my clamp my hands down around it and hold it tight as if it will stop the purge from occurring. It doesn't though, of course not, it's not logical, there's no reason why clutching my stomach would ever stop the purge from occurring, but I do it anyway, hoping in a sense that maybe just once it will. However, the bile rises up in my stomach, acid and all and it escapes, escapes right into a trashcan that wasn't held near my mouths moments ago.

The moment comes and goes and when the trashcan it no longer near my face. It is replaced by a hand with a small, white piece of gum sitting in the palm of it which I gladly take and chew, embracing its minty taste. It isn't till I chew the piece of gum for several seconds that I look up to see Peeta sitting there beside the hospital bed.

He gives me a soft, sad smile as he tucks the gum pack back into his lab coat pocket. "Hey."

"Um."

He nods. "It's okay. I know you weren't really sick these past weeks, beside the cancer I mean. And, I know you have been avoiding me. It's okay, though. I just came to see if you were okay, I had to know."

"Ah."

"I'm not mad at you." He laughs slightly, kind of a forced laughed, standing up. "I could never be mad at you even if I tried." He pauses. "You just have that effect on me. I wish I could be mad, but I can't."

I open my mouth, but it's full of cotton balls.

He backs into the doorframe. "I just had to make sure you were okay, I had to see you in person instead of getting updates from everyone else. I just came to see if you were okay, I had to know."

Nothing still comes out, too many cotton balls.

He's now halfway out the door, nodding his head. "Well, it's good to see you're okay, Katniss. Really, it is. I'm happy you're okay." He pauses. "Um… maybe I'll see you around some time."

Then he's gone just as his names slip through my teeth.

…

Cinna came and told me the tumor was gone. Cancer free. The surgery was a success; the cancer was no longer implanted in my lower back. No more malignant schwannomas.

It was gone.

He told me everything was good. I would have to do some medication and have to keep the slice down my lower back clean and go to a few appointments and what not and I would be good.

I was free.

Cinna came and told me I was tumor free. Everything was good, I was fine just like Cinna promised. I was to stay in the hospital for the next few days and then I was free to go. Free.

…

Peeta doesn't come back… he's gone.

There are other visitors though when I come to over the next few days. There's Cinna of course and my nurse whose name I learn is Paylor. Gale stops by once with the kids during the afternoon of the next day and we play Goldfish. Finn and Annie brought dinner the other night. And, Cato and Marv came by once, Cato to talk with me and Marv to hit on Cinna, "my smokin' hot doctor."

Now, it was Haymitch's turn to visit… and time to take me home. He was standing at the door of my room as I slipped on and laced up my boots.

"So meds and cleaning," I hear him confirm with Cinna as my make my way to the door.

Cinna nods, looking to me. "She'll be okay."

"I'm keeping you to that promise," Haymitch tells him as he takes my backpack from my hand and slings it over his shoulder before he slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.

"She'll be fine."

Haymitch looks to me for confirmation.

"I promise." I tell him. "I'll be fine." The _'ll, will_ be the key term.

"She'll be fine." Cinna repeats.

Haymitch looks me up and down. It's odd how he looks at me, he's never looked at me in such a way. He looks at me as if I am going to tip over and die each moment. He looks at me concerned and worried and all around uneasy. He looks at me like my father did when I was a kid and fell out of the oak tree in our backyard, breaking my right wrist. He looks at me in a fatherly manner.

"She'll be fine." Cinna repeats again.

Haymitch nods as if he has been convinced. "Thank you, son."

"Anytime," Cinna smiles.

Haymitch looks down at me. "You ready to go, sweetheart?"

I nod.

"Chinese."

…

I don't like sleeping on my stomach, but it hurts for me to sleep on my side. Even when I use my pillow as something to lean against or cuddle with, it's still uncomfortable.

It hurts.

I don't fall asleep either really. Maybe I get a few hours each night, but that is on a good night. There's not many good nights. And, it's not only my back that seems to hurt me, sometimes it's my hands and other times it's my knees.

It just hurts.

My back and sometimes some other body parts hurt twenty-four seven, but at nights the worse. It keeps me up and as a result I think, I think about everything, all the wrongs I've done.

…

Cato taps me on the shoulder. "Hey you okay?"

I look around the room till my eyes fall on him. "Yeah."

He raises his eyebrows at me, unconvinced.

"Yeah," I tell him, "I'm fine."

He nods. "You feel a little hot," he tells me, pressing his fingers against my forehead.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm fine, just the heat getting to me."

Marv snorts. "Bullshit."

My jaw clenches, but I can't say anything in my defense because I don't know if it's true or not, if I'm really okay.

"Marv," Cato warns yet it does no good.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Cato. She not okay. She misses Peeta and Peeta misses her and their both too good for their own good to realize it or even given in to their own desires."

"I wasn't talking about her mental health, Marvel."

He snorts. "Well, she doesn't look physically healthy either. Firstly, she just got a tumor removed from her back like a week ago. Secondly, she's pale and looks like she has the flu or something."

Cato shakes his head. "Don't bother with him."

I look down at my hands… sad? disappointed? angry?

Again, Cato taps my shoulder and this time my eyes immediately fine him. "You'll be okay."

I nod.

…

Everyone keeps telling me the same thing, the same exact thing. Cinna… Gale... Haymitch... Annie... Rory... Cato... Finn… and even Thom whose - Thom. They're all saying the same thing.

I'll be okay.

As much as they tell me it, I'm not sure if I believed it. I even told myself it just as often as they told me and even then I wasn't sure.

I'll be okay.

It worries me, whether I was going to be okay or not. I want to think I will be yet at the same time, deep down something tells me otherwise. It's that uneasy mixture of "yes!" and "all god no!"

…

"Sweetheart," Haymitch tells me as he applies the medication Cinna had prescribed over the surgical wound along my lower back, "Stop shaking."

I try, but I can't.

"_Sweetheart_."

"Sorry," I mutter, doing my best to keep my body in line.

He lets out an uneasy breath and I know I am failing to do so. He doesn't tell me otherwise though; he keeps applying the medication till he's done and covering the wound with a bandage. Then, he leans back, slipping off his chair and making his way over to the sink. He washes his hands and I slip my shirt back on.

There's a moment of silence where nothing really happens and nothing is really said and it makes me feel odd.

"You got to stop putting on faces, sweetheart."

"Huh?"

"You're not okay."

"I'm fin-"

He cuts me off. "Don't feed me that shit, Katniss. You're not okay. You look like you have a stomach bug and it's been god-knows how long since you saw that boy. You're not okay and you need to accept that."

I shake my head.

"You'll be okay, but the only way to get there is to accept the fact about the now. You're not okay, sweetheart, you're just as bad and maybe even worse than when you showed up here years ago."

"No, I'm no-"

"Yes, you are."

I look down at my hands, squeezing my eyes tightly closed.

He lets out a soft breath, "Shit. I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to say that. That was out of line, really out of line. Shit. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

I don't say anything.

A moment passes and then Haymitch is moving around the kitchen at full speed, opening cabinets and rummaging through the refrigerator. "Linguine?"

And all I want to tell him is, "You weren't out of line, you're right," yet instead, I nod my head.

…

Cato may be right. As I sit on my living room floor, I realize I feel feverish. The room's temperature is seventy-eighty degrees and I'm shivering like there is a blizzard going on.

I'm hot.

Maybe I did have the flu like Marv had suggested or a stomach bug like Haymitch said. Maybe I was sick, and not cancer sick, but normal sick, common sickness sick.

Literally, I'm hot though.

Yet, no matter if I'm normal sick or not, I'm not okay, I know that for sure. Like Haymitch told me the days ago, I won't be okay, not till I come to some sort of acceptances and I don't know if I can.

…

Annie hands me a half of a glass of water. "How you doing?"

"As good as I can," I shrug.

She nods, walking around me to the other side of the counter where she goes back to chopping peppers and onions. "Thanks for coming," she tells me as she chops, "Finn and I are really happy you decided to come over for dinner."

"What am I excited about," Finn ask coming into the room.

"Oh," I tell him, leaning back I so could rest my head back against his chest, "that your girlfriend is leaving you for the wonderfully gorgeous me."

Finn snorts, "In your dreams."

Annie rolls her eyes. "Why do I associate myself with you two?"

"Because I have abs," Finn smiles, "beautifully sculpted abs."

"And," I contribute, "got legs that are miles long with an okay-ish butt."

She snorts, continuing to chop.

"Do you need help," I ask. She shakes and I look to Finn, silently asking him the same question, only for him to shrug his shoulders at me. "You guys suck, you know I can't sit still."

Again, Finn shrugs, not knowing what to tell me.

Together we watch Annie, though. Minutes pass before she finishes chopping the peppers and onions. Then, she scoops them into a deep frying pan in which she already has chicken cooking inside. She stirs the contents and then moves on to make a salad. Still, she doesn't accept nor allow me to help. She doesn't let Finn move a muscle either.

Yet, at some point I finish my glass of water. And, when I go to slide off the bar stool alongside the counter, I feel myself stumble. It's as if all of a sudden my head is overcome with a sense of dizziness and my body falls victim to its ways, confused and rogue. To my luck, though, Finn is right there behind me, catching me before I fall.

However, there is a different fate for the glasses. It shatters on the ground with a _crack_.

"You okay?" Finn asks in a panic voice as he steadies me against the counter.

I nod my head. "Too left feet." Yet, it's a lie. My head is still fuzzy and my body feels more disoriented more than ever before.

"Kat-" But the doorbell cuts me off.

Finn looks to Annie who then looks to me. "Stay right here," he tells me before striding to the door.

Annie looks to me next, "You okay?"

I nod, as my head downs and I fear if I speak my voice will reveal the crying pain going on inside my head.

She looks me up and down. "I'll be right back," she tells me as she wipes her hands off on a dish towel and crosses the kitchen, "I'm going to get the broom and dust pan to clean this up."

"No, don't," I tell her, pushing off the counter. "I'll do i-"

I don't finish my sentence though. My body, again, stumbles. This time, Finn is not standing close behind and Annie is too far away to step in to catch me and I myself can't seem to take charge over my body. Everything it just so- so disoriented and cold confusing and achy and all I can do it let my body fall, allow it to happen.

It's just before my head smashes against the tile floor I swear I hear _his_ voice calling me.

…

Note:

The writing about malignant schwannomas is provided by websites I found online that gave a well-rounded background of the cancer. I apologize if I interpreted any of the information or included false information.

Also, I am sorry this chapter is shorter than the others.

Thank you.

I hope you are enjoying the story.


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